


Los Desaparecidos

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords.  John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters.  Then one day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Checkpoint

**Author's Note:**

> I think this will be five or six chapters total. Unless no one reads it (the usual fate of my stories) in which case I will simply hit it on the head with a shovel and bury it in the back yard).

Title: Checkpoint ( _Los Desaparecidos_ , Chapter 1 of ?)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: tikistitch  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley  
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.  
Word Count: 4,000 for this chapter.  
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.  
Notes: I think this will be five or six chapters total. Unless no one reads it (the usual fate of my stories) in which case I will simply hit it on the head with a shovel and bury it in the back yard). 

 

Dean's stomach tightened as soon as he glimpsed what was up ahead. He knew all he needed to do was keep his damn mouth shut and just smile and nod. But shutting up and going along happened to be the two things he was worst at.

He eased off on the Impala's throttle. _Just mellow out until your sorry ass is through the checkpoint_ , he told himself. This was the reason he didn't live in the city. The main reason. Too many of _them_.

A line of bright orange cones constricted his open highway down to one narrow lane. Dean slowed the Imapala to a crawl and cranked the window down. He cruised into the short line of cars and waited his turn. 

Suddenly there was a burly arm sticking in his window. “Papers,” came the electronically modified voice. This was one of the Deathtroopers. Or at least that's what Dean called them: black kevlar-padded suit crowned by a smooth black helmet. Dude didn't even bother to raise his visor. They never did. Whether suited up like this, or in the normal uniform with their reflective shades, you never saw their eyes. Never. Not Ever.

Dean wasn't quite sure why this little detail bothered him so much, but it did. He silently handed over his papers: license to drive, the Impala's registration, permit to buy gas for the vehicle, his visa to come into the city, another visa to get back, blah blah blahdy-blah. 

The officer straightened up and stepped back, one hand on the papers, another on the gun in his belt. While Dean affected nonchalance, secretly gritting his teeth, the dude (or lady, who the fuck could tell under all the padding) gave the car a once over. This was bad. His single least favorite thing was when they gave him shit over the car. He watched the others sauntering back and forth, cocky as hell, weapons at their hips. He wondered how tough they'd be without all that gear.

The black-gloved hand was back near his window. “Is this vehicle fully licensed?”

“Yes sir. You have my papers there, sir,” said Dean. _Sir?_ Well, it was a guess, but it wouldn't hurt.

The goon gave the papers another inspection. Put up your fucking visor, said Dean's brain. Then maybe could read the fine print, idiot. The Deathtrooper beckoned for one of his buddies, and now there were two helmets pressed together mulling over the stacks of government forms.

Dean raked a sleeve over his forehead. Sweating. This was taking too long. You didn't wanna show the cops you were nervous: they took that as a sign of guilt. They took anything as a sign of guilt.

But suddenly, Dean was looking at a handful of papers in his face. He grabbed them and looked out his window. A black gloved hand gestured for him to move it. He didn't delay. Tossing the papers to the passenger seat, he put it in drive and punched the gas. 

He checked the rearview and realized why they had finished with him. The next car back. He hadn't even noticed them driving up behind them. They had surrounded the car, and were dragging the driver out, kicking and screaming. Not a way to behave with these guys, Dean thought. 

Movement. 

The passenger side had opened, and as Dean watched, eyes glued to the rearview now, a figure darted away. Bad, bad, BAD idea. Poor son of a bitch.

He forced himself to fix his eyes to the road.

And cringed at the report. Several guns. All firing.

Poor dead son of a bitch.

 

Dean had left the Impala parked on the street a couple blocks away because he couldn't stand shutting her in the basement parking garage. But that meant enter Sam's dingy office building at the front door. It was usually pretty boring, but not today. Today there was a shabby homeless dude, off to one side, holding up a hand painted sign that read REPENT THE LORD IS NIGH.

Dean smiled. Poor crazy bastard. He cast his eyes around: for once, no cops. He decided to play Good Samaritan, even though he suspected it would do nothing. With one final look over his shoulder, he altered his path to near where the guy was standing.

“Hey, you! You might wanna move out of here,” he said quietly and apologetically, being very careful not to meet the guy's eyes. No telling if he would start screaming or preaching or what. “If the cops spot you holding that sign, they'll kick your ass. Or worse.”

Hearing no reply, Dean risked a glance over. The homeless dude fixed him in a stare. Oddly, up close the eyes looked sharp, not out of focus as Dean had expected. He looked quite intelligent, actualy. Not quite knowing why, Dean dropped his gaze, staring at his own shoes for a moment, blushing slightly. There was something unnerving about this guy. 

Dean nodded, and started to leave. 

“The Lord has plans for you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean stopped dead. He turned around to look at the Jesus freak, but the guy just smiled enigmatically. 

_Don't get involved_. This voice was definitely inside his head. He had misheard. He must have. Dean took his own advice, turned around one more time, and made for the entrance of Niveus Pharmaceuticals, LLC. There was the rigamarole once again of showing his papers to the receptionist, but then calls were made, and after a time, the elevator door opened, and heard the familiar voice, and was swept into the all to familiar bone-crushing hug, and it was all worth it, every last bit.

“Let's, uh, go take a walk,” suggested Sam hiking a thrumb towards the back of the building. Dean nodded. This place always made him nervous. Instead Sam led him through a broad corridor and around to the back of the building. It opened on a park-like area. Well, a park surrounded by razor wire and armed guards, but what could you do? 

Several people dressed like office workers were out eating their lunches. “So, how are you?” Sam asked. 

“I'm fine.”

“I mean, really?”

“I'm really fine,” persisted Dean. “Was there a reason you called me out here?” he asked as Sam found a bench by a small pond, isolated from anybody who may have been listening.

“You know, oddly enough, I just remembered it's Dad's birthday. He's 52 today.”

“He would be. If he was still around,” said Dean.

“We'll find him,” said Sam. “I think we will, some day.”

“Even if he's alive, I don't think he wants to be found, Sammy. That's why the bastard ran off.” Dean leaned over and picked up a smooth, round stone, and skipped it in the water. There were ducks gliding in the pond.

“They disappeared him, Dean,” whispered Sam, his eyes darting around. “You know as well as I do.”

“You didn't know him like I did. He wasn't the family type. Before Mom died he was always taking off.”

“Dean, you know _they_ take people away. Ones they don't like.”

“So, you wanted me here so we can argue about the old man? Again?”

“Actually, no,” admitted Sam. They both watched the ducks for a moment. “I guess I need some advice from my big brother.”

“Have you ever taken my advice?” sighed Dean.

“I'm doing some vaccine research,” Sam continued, oblivious to Dean's snark. “We're not being told who the client is, but everybody pretty much knows it's them.”

“They need a special vaccine?” asked Dean, scudding another rock.

“Yeah, that's what got me thinking too,” said Sam, looking concerned. “I thought maybe they were gonna try some bio warfare. But on who?”

“Canada I suppose?” said Dean, looking around to make sure he wasn't overheard. They always seemed paranoid about an invasion. The border was locked down: had been for years. But Dean had always suspected that was more to keep people in.

Dean kept his suspicions to himself.

“Well, I thought that for a while,” said Sam. “But lately, we've gotten some blood samples to work with. Dean, nobody will say anything, but they're strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Strange in just about every way,” said Sam. Dean was bending down to grab another rock, and Sam suddenly had his head down there too, fumbling on the ground. “They're not human.”

Dean straightened, rock poised in his hand, not breathing. Sam sat up too and sent his rock skipping off. Dean chanced a look over at Sam. Dead serious. “You've gotta be mistaken. It's a mistake, right? Sometimes those tests work wrong.”

Sam shook his head. “Tested and re-tested and re-tested. Until the damn machines broke.”

Dean felt his heart poundng in his chest. It was true. But it couldn't be.

Sometime, long ago, and before he'd run off, Dean remembered his dad telling him telling him about it: another world, full of blessed things, and cursed things. Angels and demons. Ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night. Vampires, and werewolves, and maybe even fucking unicorns.

But it was just a story. A story to scare a stupid, imaginative little boy into eating his string beans.

There was no such thing.

“OK, you want advice. Here's advice: keep your damn mouth shut about it and keep working. Don't tell anybody else, hear me? I don't care how much you trust them.”

Sam didn't reply, but Dean could see the frown lines.

“I mean, not even Jess. And you stop fucking around with those blood samples. Now. That's the end of it.”

“Just shut up and do my job?”

“Exactly. Sammy, you don't wanna tangle with these guys.”

“But Dean, that's my job. I'm a scientist. That's why you worked to put my ass through college. I question stuff. That's me. That's what I am.”

“Sammy. On the way here, I went through a roadblock. One of their roadblocks. You know what I saw in my rearview, as I drove away? You wanna know how many times they shot a guy? Just for breaking the checkpoint? I don't want my brother on the roadside in a pool of blood. I wanna know you're OK. You're the one thing that keeps me going, Sammy.”

“Dean-”

“Just promise to quit fucking around with this. Promise me.”

Sam slumped down, looking sullen. Stubborn bastard, thought Dean. He recalled the pout from when they were kids. But if Sam would listen to anyone, it was Dean.

Dean looked up. Sam had just thrust a sheaf of papers at him.

“What's this?” asked Dean, sour memories of haing his papers thrust at him by a cop still in his mind.

“Your college applications,” said Sam.

“Sammy-”

“Dean. That was the deal. You put me through college, and then I turn around and do it for you. I'm still waiting on my end,” said Sam.

Dean took the papers and stared at them like they were written in Sanskrit. “It's just.... The time isn't right just now....”

“Would it take too much time away from your drinking? You're not the only one who gets worried about your brother.”

Dean sighed and nodded. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said, rolling up the papers and stuffing them in a pocket. He had no intention of filling them out. He stood up. “I should probably get going. Don't wanna be on the road when it gets dark.”

Sam sat and stared at him for a time, but then rose as well.

“How's Jess, by the way?” asked Dean.

Sam shook his head. “She's OK. I guess.”

“What's wrong?”

Sam looked gloomy. “Just the same as ever. I get the feeling she's no happy, but I have no idea why. Sometimes I think-”

“What?”

“I dunno, Dean.” He looked at Sam. “It's weird. Do you ever get the feeling you're living someone else's life?”

Dean smiled wryly. “All the damn time. And I wish to hell the dumb son of a bitch would come take it back.

Sam laughed. And then they walked back into the lobby, and there was a hug, and empty promised to get together more often.

Dean was lost in thought as he made for the exit. It would be just like Sam to go making trouble. He sometimes suspected, though he hated to admit it, that's what had gotten the old man in trouble.

He looked over when he heard the shouting. It was the crazy Jesus dude. The idiot was still there. He hadn't attracted any cops, lucky for him, but there was a group of young guys around him now, taunting him. He seemed sweetly oblivious to it all. 

Then one of them grabbed the guy's sign, while a couple of them knocked him to the ground.

Dean saw them kicking. The guy was curled up in a fetal position.

_Don't get involved don't get involved don't get involved...._

“Hey! Get off him!”

They were staring at him, but at least they had quit kicking.

“Fuck you!” said one of them.

“Get away! He's not doing you any harm,” said Dean, now striding up with confidence he didn't feel.

“Fuck off!”

And then in a flash Dean had the sign in his hands and was waving it like a bat. “No. You fuck off,” he said, very quietly. 

Something about the menace in his voice seemed to unnerve them. First one fled, and then they were scattered.

Dean dropped the sign, and turned to see if the guy was OK. But the guy was gone. Dean turned around, but there was no sign of him.

“Must've run off,” Dean muttered to himself. Weird, because it seemed like they got him but good. But probably best for the guy. Now at least he wouldn't get arrested.

Dean walked the couple blocks to his car in distracted silence. He was eager to get on the road and get the fuck out of this place. Soon he was lost to the sound of the thrum of the engine and the beat of music. Leaving the city seemed somehow faster than going in, and before long, he was once again out on the open highway.

“The lord has plans for you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his seat. He veered into the oncoming lane, which fortunately, was empty, bringing the car to a halt on the opposite side.

He slammed it into park and turned to confront the homeless dude who was now in his back seat.

“JESUS FUCK. Did you sneak into my car?”

“And I have come with tidings, Dean Winchester.”

“And how the fuck do you know my name? Who the fuck are you?”

“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord.”

“You're what? Castor oil? How the fuck did you get in my car?”

“I am sorry,” said the Jesus dude, now sitting back and looking concerned. “Did I frighten you?”'

“DID YOU FRIGHTEN ME? I nearly crashed the fucking car!”

The homeless dude at least looked contrite. “I am sorry, Dean Winchester. I needed to contact you when we could not be overheard. This seemed the most expedient way,” he explained, holding out a hand.

“Get the fuck. Outta my car!” ordered Dean.

“I had hoped to speak with you, Dean Winchester.”

“And quit calling me Dean Winchester!”

Now the guy seemed puzzled. He tilted his head, like a bird might do, and frowned at Dean. “That is your name, isn't it? You are Dean Winchester, son of John Winchester brother to Sam Winchester.”

“Get out!”

“I think you might want to hear-”

“OUT!”

“Dean Winchester, your brother, Sam Winchester, may be in danger!”

“OUT!”

And then the guy was no longer there. He didn't open the door and crawl out. He just plain wasn't there.”

Dean sat and blinked, breathing hard. “Wait, did you say Sammy? Did he say Sam?” he said out loud. “OK, look, Casserole, or whatever the fuck you are? What did you say about Sam?”

“He may be in danger.”

Dean let out a very small scream. The dude was now sitting next to him.

Dean leaned over and poked the guy in the arm. He seemed substantial. “You said you're....”

“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord. And I would speak to you.”

“OK. OK. Castiel, angel of the Lord. Can you quit popping in and out like that? It's creepy.”

“I'm sorry Dean Winchester. I have not been much amongst humans prior to this. Perhaps my manners leave something to be desired?”

“Here,” said Dean, holding out a hand. Castiel looked curiously at the hand, obviously having no idea what to do. Dean grabbed Castiel's right hand and brought it up to shake. “I'm Dean,” he said. “See, that's how you introduce yourself.”

“All right,” said Castiel, now staring at his right hand.

“I thought you were hurt, Castiel?” said Dean. He had his first real good look at the guy now. As he had thought before, the guy didn't look crazy. He also didn't look so much like a homeless guy close up. The coat was shabby, but it seemed clean. And he sure didn't smell like a homeless guy. He could use a shave and probably instructions on how to use a comb, but he didn’t smell funky, like someone who’s been sleeping on the street. In fact he smelled…. Dean tried to place it. It was something like seawater, but lighter. The wind? How could you smell like the wind. But he just kept thinking of sweet summer breezes.

“I have repaired myself,” the angel – if that's what he was – supplied.

“You let them fuck you up, instead of just winking out?” asked Dean.

“Wlinking out? I do not see how mild flirtation might have ameliorated the situation,” said Castiel.

“It’s just an expression. I mean you didn’t do the disappearing thing?”

“I wished to gain your attention. You have a destiny, Dean Winchester.”

“Just Dean will do. And what's so bloody important about me?”

“I can explain if you will go with me.”

“Go where?”

“We'll go to see a righteous man. There your destiny will be revealed.”

“Uh, where exactly is this?” asked Dean suspiciously.

“I have placed the coordinates in your GPS device,” said Castiel, indicating the box on Dean's dash. Dean leaned over and pushed a button. Yes, it was there. Angels knew how to program a GPS? “Hmm. That's not far. But those folks up at Manners Place: they keep to themselves.” Mostly with the aid of heavy armaments, thought Dean.

“He knows me,” said Castiel confidently. “I am a friend to him.”

“So, you'll ride shotgun with me and not wink out?” asked Dean.

“We have no need of a shotgun Dean Win- I mean, Dean.” Dean stared at the beaming angel for a while. The guy seemed to be delighted to be on a first name basis with him. So, I finally meet an angel, and he's nucking futs, thought Dean. Great. 

“But you promise not to vanish again?” Dean wasn't going out to Manners Place without an angelic guide, albeit a screwy one. Even the cops rarely ventured out there.

“No. I will not to, uh, wink out.”

Dean put the car in drive and flipped a quick U-Turn. He considered jamming the radio and ignoring his passenger, but curiosity got the better of him. “So, Castiel? How exactly to you know me?”

“I have watched over you for a long time, Dean. You and your brother.”

“I have a guardian angel?”

“Yes! You could say I am your guardian.”

“OK, so, why do I need a guardian?”

The sunny mood suddenly fell off the angel. “It's a long and sad story. You were fated to be something else, you and your brother. Something quite different than what you are today. Someone should have been monitoring the situation here more closely. Things were allowed to get too far out of hand here.”

“Uh, here meaning Washington?”

“Here meaning the earth. My father's creation!” 

“Uh-huh. So, what now?”

“It is time for you to help us set things right.”

“Angels are asking me for help?” asked Dean. It seemed Castiel's answers only contained more questions. Dean decided to ask something more direct. “So, if you're an angel, where are your, you know...?” he asked, patting his own back.

“My wings? Yes, my true form has wings. It is very glorious to behold! Unfortunately, humans sometimes have a small problem with it.”

“A small problem?”

“For most people, viewing my true visage burns out human eyes. Hearing my true voice shatters eardrums. Regarding my magnificent form causes insanity!”

“Uh, that doesn't sound very pleasant,” said Dean. “Thanks for toning it down.”

“This is a human body that I inhabit,” said Castiel.

“Oh. Uh. If I'm not being rude, what happened to the human inside?”

Castiel pulled at his lapels as if he wore an ermine cape. “This was the body of a good, righteous man. Unfortunately, he was struck down by a disease. Leukemia, I believe you call it.”

Dean glanced over at Castiel again. Ah. So that would explain why he looked so damned thin and pale. “Oh. So he's dead?”

“He disdained the ministration of doctors and left his fate to God. I called to him, and asked to wear his body as my vessel. It was his last request.”

I'm in the car with a scary dead guy, thought Dean. “Wait, I thought you said if you talked to people it broke their eardrums?”

“Most humans, yes. Some very special humans can talk to us. The most blessed of you!”

Dean wondered if it was a blessing or a curse to talk to angels. But he didn't say anything.

Castiel suddenly held up a walkie talkie. Dean blinked. It didn't seem like he had been holding it a moment ago. And since when did celestial beings use walkie talkies?

“Slow down. It's here,” said Castiel.

“Here where?” asked Dean. They were currently in a forest in the middle of nowhere.

“This is Cas,” said Castiel over the walkie talkie. “I need you to lower the gate.”

“Cas? Is that you? Why the fuck you need that?” came a gruff voice over the other end. “You brought an army?”

“Just a friend. But we're driving.”

“You hitched a ride today, Cas? Well, now I've seen everything. OK, hold on!”

Dean gawped. Suddenly, a whole row of what looked like underbrush alongside the road flopped over to reveal the driveway to a narrow, rutted road through the trees.

“Up there,” said Castiel, pointing. 

Dean scowled and steered the car up the narrow road: it was actually just two ruts, like something that had been run over by a caterpillar. The “gate” then rose back up behind him. Dean glanced in the rearview and saw a lot of metal spikes among the plants.

The road took many twists and turns, so he couldn't see where he was going, which made him nervous. Finally, after at least ten minutes of switchbacks and hairpin turns, he went over a small rise and came to a clearing. There were several structures visible, and various other vehicles, mostly trucks, parked out front.

Dean put the car in park and killed the ignition. 

And felt the gun to his head.

“Cas?” said Dean.

But the angel was no longer beside him.


	2. The Exorcist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be five or six chapters total. Unless people have already quit reading. Which is fine. Just don’t go off and read Fifty Shades of Grey, OK? Because that would depress me.

Title: The Exorcist ( _Los Desaparecidos_ , Chapter 2 of ?)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: tikistitch  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley  
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.  
Word Count: 5,000 for this chapter.  
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then one day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.  
Notes: I think this will be five or six chapters total. Unless people have already quit reading. Which is fine. Just don’t go off and read Fifty Shades of Grey, OK? Because that would depress me. 

 

“Keep your hands were I can see 'em!” barked a tall, dark skinned guy: the dude who happened to be, at this very moment, pointing a loaded shotgun at Dean’s head.

He wasn't wearing the uniform, nor even the wraparound shades, so he wasn't a cop. But this didn't give Dean much comfort.

“Cas?” pleaded Dean, madly looking around. “I thought you said you knew these people?”

“Rufus! Did I tell you to blow the head off my guests?” came a gruff voice from across the yard. It sounded like the guy Castiel had been talking to over the walkie talkie.

“Bobby, my friend!” sang Castiel, who had alaready popped out of the passenger seat, seemingly oblivious to murderous dudes.

“I don't know this guy,” said Rufus, who took a careful half step back from Dean, but didn't lower his weapon. 

“Stand down, ya idjit,” said Bobby. “He's just one of Cas' friends,” said Bobby, who carried a rifle, but had it pointed at the ground.

“Is that good or bad?” scowled Rufus, who finally lowered his weapon.

Dean, keeping his hands up, carefully exited the Impala. 

“What is it today, Cas?” asked Bobby. “Stray kittens? Did some baby fucking birdies fall out of the nest.”

“Bobby,” said Castiel. “This is Dean Winchester.”

Bobby knit his bushy brows. “Dean Winchester? John's boy?” he asked.

“You're Dean Winchester?” asked Rufus, who was now cradling his weapon and looking slightly flummoxed.

“You wanna see my fucking papers?” Dean grumbled.

“As I live and breathe,” said Bobby, stepping forward wide-eyed, hand outstretched. “Any son of John Winchester is welcome here. Always.”

Dean took the hand and shook. 

“And this gun-toting shithead is Rufus,” said Bobby. “I have no goddam idea why we keep him around.”

“Because you don't have any other friends, asshole,” said Rufus, now reaching out to shake Dean's hand.

“How the holy hell did you find Dean Winchester, Cas?” asked Bobby.

“He is interesting in learning of his father's work,” said Cas evasively.

“You knew my father?” Dean asked Bobby.

“Did I know your father? Better than I knew my fucking self!” said Bobby.

“I have some things to attend to,” said Castiel, “so I will leave you for a while, Dean. I will be back later.”

“What the hell kinda business do you have Cas?” asked Bobby, as Castiel had already started to walk off. “Wait, can I at least get someone to drive you?”

“I know the way,” smiled Castiel. 

“You better be back for dinner, Cas!” Bobby shouted after him. “Else Ellen will have my head!”

Castiel waved over his shoulder and vanished into the woods.

“That is one strange little motherfucker,” said Rufus.

“You tell me,” said Bobby as they both watched him go.

“He's … interesting,” said Dean, wondering why Castiel had chosen not to pull his disappearing trick here.

“I got booby traps up the yin-yang set up out there. I don't even know where all of them are any more. The fool is lucky he's never set one off,” said Bobby.

“Some day, maybe, we'll hear a boom,” smiled Rufus, who seemed to think that would be a good thing. “And then, Cas bits everywhere.”

“How do you guys know Cas?” asked Dean.

“Oh. He just showed up here one day,” said Bobby. “A couple years back. Some kids down the road lost their folks. It was some damn police raid, I don't know. Anyway, he just asked us to feed 'em. Well, I told him I'm not running a fucking charity, but Ellen overruled me on that one. So, we got 'em sorted out, some neighbors to watch over them. I guess you gotta take care of each other out here.

“And then he turns up like that from time to time, just shows up. But it's always for someone else. Never asked for anything for himself, not even a bite to eat. So that's why I guess I trust him. As much as I trust anybody, anyway. And he looks like he could use a decent meal. When Ellen's around, she insists we feed him. She's got a soft spot for strays I guess. Ellen Harvelle, is who I’m talking about? She knew your dad real well too.”

“I guess I'm the only one who didn't,” said Dean sadly. He didn’t recognize the name.

“So, you've decided to take up the life?” asked Bobby.

“I'm sorry. The life?” asked Dean. A survivalist nutcase in the woods?

“We're hunters. Like your papa,” said Bobby, indicating himself and Rufus.

“Hunters?” asked Dean. He vaguely remembered a couple of hunting trips with his dad. But that was long ago.

Bobby and Rufus exchanged a glance. “You really don't know shit, do you?” said Rufus.

“Rufus, get Ellen on the horn and tell her John Winchester’s boy is here,” said Bobby. Rufus nodded and disappeared inside one of the structures. 

“Walk with me,” said Bobby. Dean nodded and followed the older man along. “I guess you were kinda young when your old man was taken from us.”

“You think he was taken?” asked Dean.

“You don't think so, huh? I know he was taken. Sonsabitches disappeared him. He was one of the very first of the disappeared. That's how important your dad was.”

“So, what exactly did he do? What do you do?” asked Dean, hoping he would get more satisfying answers from Bobby than he had from Castiel. 

“Easier to show you,” said Bobby. They had just arrived the door of a low building that resembled a bunker. Dean noticed the door had weird writing all over it. He had taken it for graffiti, but he didn't recognize any of the symbols. Bobby opened a lock and, with Dean’s assistance, pulled open the heavy door. Dean peered inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw the entire interior had been painted with the strange symbols. The floor and ceilings had especially elaborate markings, with more weird symbols inside of five-pointed stars.

Bobby went to an interior door and slid open a small window. He looked inside, and then closed the window. “What I'm gonna show you, you can't tell anybody. Anybody. Ever. Understand me?”

Dean nodded. What choice did he have?

Bobby opened at least three locks, and then pulled open the door. Dean slipped inside after him, wondering what was up with all the paranoia and crazy graffiti. 

Dean gasped. And shrank back.

It was one of them. Chained to a chair. And he was smack in the middle of one of those crazy designs, which had been painted over half the floor.

It was still wearing the helmet, but he could feel it staring at him. 

“You got one of them?” asked Dean. “A cop? What the hell?”

“You think that's a big deal?” grinned Bobby. 

“Yeah it's a big deal!” said Dean. “Fuck. Bobby. What if they catch you? They'll level the compound!”

“Let me show you something,” said Bobby. He marched over to the black clad figure and wrenched off the helmet.

It blinked, obviously stunned by the dim light in the room. Dean, against every instinct, leaned forward. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected to see under that helmet, but this looked like … a guy. A perfectly normal guy.

“Help me! Please! These people have kidnapped me!” the cop dude pleaded.

“Yeah, you poor bastard,” grumbled Bobby. “Watch this, Dean.” Bobby repeated a few words in what sounded like Latin.

The guy twisted, and then he emitted a small scream.

“Bobby!” said Dean. “What did you-?”

“Look!” ordered Bobby.

The creature stopped seizing and blinked. The eyes! They were now terrible black pools, shiny as beetles. 

“You'll pay for this,” it told Bobby. The voice had completely changed, as had the body language. It made Dean think of a coiled snake. 

Dean's fascination overcame his fear. “It looks human.”

“It is human,” said Bobby. “Somewhere underneath. This man is possessed.”

“Possessed? By what?”

“Demons! What else?” asked Bobby.

“Wait. Demons exist too?” asked Dean.

Bobby roared with laughter. “What the fuck did John teach you, boy?” 

“Not a lot, obviously,” said Dean, who had sidled over to be nearer the demon.

“John?” said the demon. “You're John Winchester's boy?”

“What, has everybody heard about him?” asked Dean.

“Mind yer bidness, asshole” barked Bobby, who scrunched the demon back in the helmet, giving it a solid smack as it clicked into place. “C'mon,” he said to Dean. They exited the building as carefully as they had entered, Bobby checking and double checking to see everything was secured.

“Bobby, what are you going to do with that thing?” asked Dean.

“If all goes well, we're gonna have ourselves a good, old-fashioned exorcism!” said Bobby. 

“Wait, like in the movies?” asked Dean, who suddenly had visions of Linda Blair vomiting pea soup. But Bobby was now paying attention to a vehicle that had just arrived, kicking up a cloud of dust. “Ellen!” he hailed. “Did you bring it?”

An attractive middle aged woman emerged from the passenger’s seat. She was clutching a package wrapped up in a cloth. “Did I ever. Me and Jo just picked it up!”

“That’s the book?” asked Bobby, putting a hand reverently on the package. Ellen peeled back the top flap and she and Bobby leaned over, two kids in the candy store. To Dean, who wasn’t much for books, it looked like the oldest, crumbliest one he had ever seen. He didn’t recognize the lettering on the outside, but he did recognize the pentagram symbol. Dean glanced over at the girl who had just hopped out of the driver’s seat, noticing that she was awfully cute.

“Oh, hey, Ellen, look who the cat dragged in,” said Bobby. “This is Dean Winchester!”

“That's what Rufus said! You're John’s boy?” she asked. Dean nodded sheepishly.

Dean suddenly felt himself engulfed in Sam-style bone-crushing hug. Ellen pushed him back and gripped his chin. “Dean Winchester! Why he's the spit and image of John.”

“Yeah, both just as ugly,” agreed Bobby.

“Hi Dean!” said the young blond girl who also grabbed him for a hug. Dean did not object to this in the least. “If you’re John’s boy, you’re practically family!” she gushed.

“This is my girl, Jo!” said Ellen proudly.

“Uh, you guys knew my dad?” Dean, who may have been blushing a little, asked Ellen

“I did,” said Ellen. “He's a fine man.”

“I didn't know him well,” said Dean, who was intrigued that everybody around her still referred to his father in the present tense. 

“Let's get some grub, and then we'll talk,” promised Bobby. “It's just about time for the dinner bell.” The group headed inside the main building.

But they didn't talk. Well, not about anything Dean was curious about. Rufus was there, plus a few other people Dean hadn't met. And then some more stragglers wandered in as the evening progressed. Bobby or Ellen or Jo or Rufus would give Dean a name, and Dean would promptly forget. Ellen kept him running around shelling peas or gathering firewood or drawing water from the well. Wherever he was, he noticed Jo would just happen to come by and chat. Or come by and flirt, to be honest. Dean was definitely flattered, though he found himself also a bit uneasy about the whole thing. After a lifetime of people treating him with suspicion, here was a group – a highly paranoid group, judging from his welcome – that instantly trusted him. 

By the time dinner was prepared, there may have been two dozen people crowded around a large table. Dean had expected the picking to be slim, but if anything, it was the opposite. Here, away from the rationing coupons, the table was laden with a savory smelling stew (venison, Bobby told him), fresh baked cornbread, mashed potatoes and gravy, and heaps of fresh vegetables (Dean hadn't remembered that carrots could be crisp).

But none of this is for me, Dean thought as he watched another steaming pot emerge from the kitchen. _This is all for my father._

“Cas! Where the hell you been, boy!” said Bobby as the angel appeared in the doorway.

“I hope I'm not intruding,” Castiel told Bobby.

“You're going to sit your skinny butt down and let me feed you,” said Ellen.

“I do not need food, Ellen,” said Castiel.

“You better do what Ellen wants!” said Bobby, throwing up his hands. “That's what we all do!” 

Ellen pulled a mildly protesting Castiel down into to a seat next to Dean. Dean noticed with a bit of amusement that Jo had already grabbed the chair on his other side. Dean smiled at Castiel. It was relief to see a familiar face, even if it was one he had only met a few hours earlier than the residents of Bobby's compound and a weird supernatural being to boot.

It had been a strange day.

“How are you, Dean?” Castiel asked. Dean couldn’t find the words, so he just nodded.

“So, what do you think, Dean?” Bobby asked him after plates had been heaped more food than Dean had seen in a month.

“So, are all of them like that? The cops? Demons, I mean?” Dean asked.

“We think so,” said Rufus, helping himself to more stew. “But nobody knows for sure.”

“They managed to snatch a bunch of hunters, back when they took over,” Bobby told him. Bobby leaned back and wiped some gravy off his chin with a corner of the tablecloth.

“There's not a lot of us left,” said Ellen

“But things might be changing, thanks to Ellen!” said Bobby. “I think we have the key! The book we’ve been looking for.”

Castiel, who had been quietly pushing food around on his plate, glanced up at Dean, worried expression on his face.

“What do you think, Cas?” Dean asked him. Dean looked around, confused, as several people started laughing.

“Cas wouldn't know. Would you, dear?” asked Ellen.

“No, Ellen,” said Castiel distractedly, regarding his stew as if it were a specimen. “I wouldn't know.”

Dean frowned, but then everyone was distracted by the appearance of Jo's carrot cake. She made sure Dean downed at least two slices before she would let him leave the table. Dean protested, but only mildly. It was delicious.

Bobby then called a couple of them out for a drink on the porch. “You don't have to clear the table, hon,” Ellen told Dean, smiling genuinely. “But beware of Bobby’s rotgut!”

Dean slid the pile of dishes he was carrying into the sink and turned to go. He nearly bumped into Castiel, who was laden with what looked like every serving dish on the table.

“Cas,” said Dean, pulling the angel aside while trying not to send the various dirty pots and pans Cas was clutching crashing to the floor. “Is something going on?”

“Dean. Bobby is going to invite you to witness an exorcism,” whispered Castiel.

“Yeah, he mentioned that.”

“You need to be … careful,” said Castiel vaguely?

“Why?” asked Dean.

“Cas, get you skinny ass in here with my dishes!” yelled Ellen. Castiel shook his head and disappeared into the kitchen.

Bobby's liquor turned out to be a toxic moonshine. Dean sat down hard on the front porch and let his head swim.

“What do you think?” asked Bobby, slapping him on the back.

“This is awesome!” declared Dean, reaching out his shot glass for another splash and wondering how long it would take his esophagus to quit burning.

“So, what's your brother up to, Dean?” asked Bobby. “Sam? You were saying he has a job?”

“He's a researcher for a biotech. Out on the coast,” Dean added. Folks out here tended to view city dwellers with suspicion. 

“Done good for himself, huh?” said Bobby.

“Yeah,” said Dean.

“And you, kid?”

Dean shrugged. “I dropped out freshman year and never quite made it back. I'm a mechanic now. Mostly.” _When I can keep a job_ , Dean mused.

“Ah, so you're actually doing something useful!” laughed Bobby.

Dean didn't laugh. His mind drifted to Sam and what his brother had told him. It seemed a long time ago now. “So our dad – he fought demons?”

“That's part of what we do. Hunters,” said Bobby, helping himself to more rotgut. “Or at least what we used to do. Before the dark times,” he grinned.

“There's terrors in the world. We keep it safe,” said Rufus, who had been standing silently up until now.

“Ghosties and ghoulies and long legged beasties,” chuckled Bobby. “So, you're gonna lend a hand now? Follow in your dad's footsteps?”

Dean shook his head. 

“No?” asked Bobby.

“Not no. It's just, I'd have no fucking idea where to start!” said Dean. “There's so much I don't know.”

“I'll tell you where we'll start. In a bit, Ellen and I are gonna cast out that demon. We want you to come in and watch.”

Dean frowned, recalling what Castiel had said. He wondered why the angel was skeptical. “You want me to watch an exorcism?” said Dean.

“But it ain’t just any exorcism,” said Rufus, looking smug.

“Yeah, this is our magic bullet,” said Bobby.

“Our nuke,” said Rufus.

“What?” asked Dean, looking at his shotglass.

“You seen the cops,” said Bobby. “You know how many of them there are? And how few of us?”

Dean nodded.

“Before this, we’ve had to cast out demons piecemeal, one at a time.”

“Or more often just kill them,” sighed Rufus. “Or kill the people they possessed.”

“If they don’t kill us first, added Bobby. “But this is like, what did they call it?” he asked. “The neutron bomb. You mouth some Latin, add a pinch of myrrh, and boom! Every evil black-eyed bastard for fifty miles is cast out!”

“That sounds useful,” said Dean.

“So, you with us?” asked Bobby. Bobby and Rufus stared at him.

Dean sipped at the moonshine, and then downed it. _Or what? Against you?_ he wondered.

“Well, yeah, OK,” said Dean.

“Attaboy,” said Bobby. He whacked Dean on the back.

Dean choked.

 

Ellen had Dean running around again, grinding powder and picking leaves. He was wondering if this was an exorcism or baking a pie. 

At last they carried the supplies out to the bunker-like building where the demon was being held. Dean had tried to catch Castiel to talk to him, but the angel, maddeningly, had disappeared once again.

They unlocked the room and Ellen began to set things up on a low table: she had the ingredients, and also the crumbling leather-bound book. “What is this?” asked Dean.

“Arcane wisdom,” said Bobby, who was carrying his shotgun. He had armed Dean as well, after ascertaining that he knew how to shoot. Oddly enough, though, his weapon, as well as Bobby’s, was loaded with salt, and not buckshot. Dean was pondering this when the demon began to laugh.

“Idiots!” it told them.

“Ah, shaddap,” grunted Bobby. “Help me with this?” he asked Dean, and together they once again wrested off the creature's helmet. This time it did not even pretend to be human. 

“You have the wrong book!” said the demon.

“Well, thanks for the advice,” said Bobby.

“Enjoy this night,humans. It will be your last,” warned the demon.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dean, trying to be casual. Even though the thing was chained up, he felt somehow vulnerable. He pulled Bobby aside. “Bobby, are you absolutely sure about this?” he whispered.

“I’m sure about one thing, kid,” said Bobby. “You don’t trust a fucking demon.”

“OK, we're set,” said Ellen. While Bobby and Dean stepped back, Ellen began throwing a pinch of this and a hint of that into a bowl. After a splash of what seemed like everything, she tossed in a match. It flared up, stinking of something awful. 

Ellen then picked up the book and began reading something. Dean listened, but it didn't sound like English. Latin? Yeah, it sounded like something a crazy monk would chant.

Ellen turned a crumbling page and chanted the ancient sounding words. The demon-possessed cop glared at them, the horrible beetle eyes flickering. And then suddenly it let out a high pitched wail and it's head shot back. Its mouth opened, and to Dean’s astonishment, a cloud of toxic black smoke balled out while the creature retched.

“It's working, Ellen!” said Bobby. “Keep reading, girl!”

Ellen bent her head lower over the ancient volume and repeated the words. More smoke oozed out of the demon, but then it seemed to stop, swirling over the thing's head. The demon babbled something muffled: Dean thought maybe it was the same language. It writhed and groaned, and there was a great snap: the chains on one of its arms had snapped. And then the creature sucked in, gobbling back all the black smoke into itself.

“Bobby, it's getting loose,” warned Dean.

“Keep reading Ellen!” urged Bobby, who wiped some sweat off his brow with the back of a cuff.

Ellen paused one fateful minute as she glanced up. The demon's free arm whipped out, and the book flew out of her hands. And then it whipped again, and Ellen herself flew back. Dean heard a sickening snap as Ellen smacked to the wall, and then fell, limp as a rag doll, her head now at an impossible angle to her body.

 _She's dead_ , Dean thought in horror. _The demon killed her._

“Bastard!” screamed Bobby, who raised his rifle. The demon arm flew out, and Bobby, looking terrified, turned the muzzle under his own chin.

“NO!” screamed Dean. 

He threw an arm over his eyes. A gunshot sounded.

“No,” he whispered.

He turned towards the demon.

Now the metallic black eyes were on him.

The demon's arm snapped up. Dean was pushed back, the rifle knocked away. He landed on the floor. He threw up a protective arm, waiting for the killing blow.

He heard a voice and looked up.

And there was Cas, right between Dean and the demon, standing straight, repeating some ancient words. The angel seemed to give off a soft glow in the dim light. There was a strange shadow gatheing around him, stretching out on either side.

Two dark wings.

The demon shrieked, a terrible sound, and then the room was filled with the horrible sulphurous black smoke. The demon spit out the last, and then went limp.

Dean sat on the floor, too terrified to move. Castiel approached the demon, holding up its head to stare into its now lifeless human eyes. “Dead. His body was too badly damaged by the demon,” he said softly.

“It killed them. Cas. It killed Bobby and Ellen,” sobbed Dean.

Castiel looked at Dean. He had a smile on his face. “It's all right, Dean. They're not gone,” he told Dean.

“What?”

Instead of answering, Castiel went over to Ellen. He gently pulled her head around so it faced the correct direction. Dean heard a very small pop. And then, to his astonishment, she sighed.

“Cas?”

Castiel then went over to the mess that had been Bobby singer. He knelt for a moment, two fingers on the ruined face. And then there was the popping sound, and Bobby's head had reassembled.

Dean was down on his knees, next to Bobby, feeling for a pulse. “You.... You brought them back?”

“They will be unconscious for a little while,” Castiel told Dean.

“You knew this would happen?” Dean asked Castiel.

“I knew it would go wrong. I honestly had no idea it would go so wrong, Dean. Or else I would have tried to prevent it.” He looked apologetic. “The book they obtained: it was the wrong one. It was a small error. But you cannot make an error when dealing with such beings.” 

“Why didn't you just tell them?” asked Dean.

“They wouldn't have believed me,” said Castiel glumly.

“Why wouldn't they believe you? You're a fricking angel!” Castiel looked at Dean, and suddenly Dean understood. “Wait. None of them know, do they?”

“Only you, Dean. I am your guardian. The guardian of the Winchesters. I have revealed myself only to you.”

Dean nodded. It suddenly made sense how they had been treating Cas all evening. The way Dean had treated him at first, before Cas had showed up in his car: the slightly crazy homeless guy. 

“Why don't you just tell them?” Dean persisted. “You could help them!”

“It's … complicated,” said Castiel, who looked very unhappy. “I am afraid they wouldn’t understand.”

“Exactly how complicated?” asked Dean.

Bobby moaned. Dean and Castiel’s attention immediately refocused. “What the blazes?” grumbled Bobby.

“Are you all right, Bobby?” asked Dean.

“Cas, what the fuck are you doing in here?” demanded Bobby, who seemed to have made a remarkably fast recovery. From being dead that is, Dean thought wryly.

“I heard noises,” said Castiel, nodding towards the now opened door. 

“Shit! How did that happen? Ellen!” said Bobby, as Ellen too moaned and regained consciousness.

Fortunately for Castiel, neither Bobby nor Ellen seemed to have clear memories of what had gone on. Dean decided to play along, for now, and told them some folderol about how he had also blacked out, only to wake up when Castiel entered. There was a heated discussion, especially as more residents of the compound came by to hear the story.

“I think we all need to sleep on this one,” said Bobby finally.

“Yeah, I should probably get going,” said Dean, who had been looking for a polite time to take his leave. He really wanted to get away alone and think for a long while.

“I should be going as well,” said Castiel.

“I’ll drop you,” said Dean swiftly.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll drop you,” said Dean insistently. Castiel flicked his eyes at the group, but then nodded, evidently deciding this wasn’t worth a fight.

“Let me pack you a lunch, Cas,” said Ellen.

“I don’t require your food,” Castiel told her.

“Shut up and follow me,” said Ellen. Castiel, with a heavy sigh, followed Ellen back into the main residence, and the group started to break up. Dean went over to his car, leaning against the hood to wait for Cas. He felt a small hand entwine with his, and looked over to see Jo was standing there, smiling at him. He smiled back, and then she had gone up on tiptoe and was kissing him on the lips.

Dean grinned. She was a pretty good kisser.

“I like being direct,” smiled Jo. “I like you.”

Dean shrugged and nodded. “You don’t know me, Jo. You seem like a nice kid-“

“KID?” asked Jo, crossing her arms and scowling at him.

“Jo. You just met me, and there’s a lot of shit about me you don’t know.”

“Well, let me learn then,” she grinned.

Dean and Jo turned to the soft throat clearing. “Um, I don’t wish to intrude,” said Castiel, standing with his arms laden tinfoil-wrapped treats.

“You’re not interrupting,” laughed Dean, but he noticed Jo glared pretty fiercely at Castiel. “Look. Jo. I’ll see you later. OK?”

“Is that a promise?” she asked.

“Yeah. OK,” said Dean. He went around to the other side of the Impala to open the passenger side door for Castiel, partly to avoid another kiss goodbye.

Jo looked dubious, but nodded and departed. Dean smiled at Castiel as he put the car in gear. The angel looked baffled by the embarrassment of leftovers he carried on his lap. 

They rode in silence until they reached the main highway and had Bobby drop the barrier. 

“You realize that I do not require transportation? As I do not require the contents of Ellen’s larder,” Castiel told Dean as they turned back onto the main highway.

Dean laughed. “I like having someone in the passenger seat with me. I dunno. It feels right.”

“I am not the one meant to be here with you.”

Dean looked over, surprised at this. “Well, isn’t that up to me to decide?”

Castiel shrugged awkwardly. “It is your fate,” he explained. “Dean, I should confess something to you.”

“What’s that?”

Castiel sighed. “The exorcism today. I knew it would end wrong. I let it go on, partly as a lesson to you. To show you how dangerous this life can be.” The blue eyes were on Dean now, beseeching.

“I thought my destiny was to become a hunter?” asked Dean.

“It is! It is….” Castiel seemed to grasp for words. “I just… I would be upset, if you were to be hurt.”

“Well, that’s nice of you,” said Dean. “Look, from now on, you can just tell me this stuff, OK? I’ll believe you.”

“I did not want to chance it. Angels are not … well regarded. In the hunter community.”

“You’re worried I would be prejudiced?” asked Dean, who found himself baffled.

“Yes, Dean. Something like that.”

“Well, I like you OK,” said Dean.

“You do?”

Dean grinned and looked over. It had been said with such sincerity. 

“Yeah, I like you Cas.”

“And I like you, Dean!” said Castiel, his smile lighting up like the sky. “Do you have need of baked goods?” he asked, indicating the pile of food he was still clutching.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind if you gave me a piece of pie or something,” said Dean. He glanced back over.

But Castiel wasn’t there any more. There was just the pile of food.

And the lingering scent of a soft summer breeze.

 

Sam grinned. He had always had a talent for getting where he wasn’t supposed to be. It had driven Dean crazy when they were kids. But it had proven useful now.

He had to be very careful. He had picked the time with care: after the last janitors had made their rounds, but before the first regular security guards were on duty. In this stretch of the morning, there was no one around but a few bored night watchmen, who tended to nap through their shifts. He knew this. He had spent many nights watching. And Jess…. Well, Jess just didn’t seem to care any more. Maybe she suspected he was having an affair. Maybe all this would finally be what she needed to leave him.

He shouldn’t be hoping this was true.

There was something very wrong with him these days. That last time he’d spoken to Dean he had gotten the mad impulse to bring his brother in on this. Dean, the grumpy drunk, here going all cat burglar with him! It was ridiculous of course. 

But as he had explained to Dean there were some things he just needed to know. 

He stopped at the last doorway. He pulled his selection of stolen security badges from his pocket and fanned them out. He couldn’t believe how lax people were with these things. He pulled out the one he had been saving: an administrator who was bound to have a high clearance. The dumb ass didn’t even realize his badge had been stolen. 

Sam held the badge to the door, and there was a comforting buzz. He opened the door as the green light came on, and hurried down the corridor. He knew exactly what he was looking for. The administrator had a computer that was purposely kept off the networks, so there was no chance of hacking into it from the outside. Sam booted it up and prowled around the desk. He opened one drawer, and then another. He frowned. And then he looked at the yellow sticky note pasted on the bottom of the screen, one word scrawled out on it, and grinned. When the password prompt came on, he typed the word in, “CROATOAN.” He grinned smugly as the desktop came up. 

He looked over the desktop, and immediately clicked on the file also labeled “CROATOAN.” Boy, these guys were obvious, he would give them that. 

And then he started reading. And reading. 

He soon became caught up in it all, too caught up, unfortunately, to hear the very soft creak behind him. It was too bad, in retrospect, that he hadn’t brought his brother along. It was too bad he didn’t have someone to watch his back.

One instant too late, Sam sat up and turned around.

And all was blackness….


	3. In the Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley’s song (yes you read that right) in this chapter is based on “I Just Can’t Wait to be King,” from The Lion King. I don’t have any rights to that, but I don’t have any rights to Supernatural either. So there.

Title: In the Blood ( _Los Desaparecidos_ , Chapter 3 of 6)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: tikistitch  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley  
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.  
Word Count: 4,700 this chapter  
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.  
Notes: Crowley’s song (yes you read that right) in this chapter is based on “I Just Can’t Wait to be King,” from The Lion King. I don’t have any rights to that, but I don’t have any rights to Supernatural either. So there.

 

It was chilly in the bedroom, so she grabbed his Metallica T shirt from where it was crumpled on the floor and pulled it over her head before she tip-toed out to the kitchen, intending to seek out some coffee. She spared one glance over her shoulder: he was still snoring away.

The kitchen was a bit of a mess. No, actually it looked like it had been hit by a twister. And a tidal wave. And maybe a rain of frogs or something. It was a nice big kitchen, or had been nice, at one point. It was all open, with what must have once been a skylight up in the high celing. There was a bar in the middle, and spaces to hang your pots and pans.

But that had been before. Back when the rest of the houses on this cul-de-sac had been occupied by up and coming young families: ones who didn’t mind commuting to the city in their SUVs if it meant a big house and a yard for the kids to play in.

There were no kids out playing now. The other houses in the tract had been abandoned long ago, and this house, whether by accident or design, now looked like it had been boarded up, with heavy curtains over the few remaining glass windows and a yard that looked like the aftermath of tank warfare.

It took some time to locate a coffee maker and all its parts in the mess, and then she somehow managed to find a bag of coffee and finally an actual functional electrical outlet. She figured this guy must have a generator somewhere, because there was no way this housing tract was still hooked up to utilities. The tap water was a little brown, but it turned out OK if you let it run for a little while. She stifled a yawn as she finally heard the satisfying thrum of brewing coffee. She swept aside some pizza boxes and hopped up on the cluttered island counter to await caffeination.

She heard the creak of footsteps behind her and smiled and turned around, but the grin on her face suddenly froze.

“Hello. I'm Cas,” said the grungy looking homeless guy who was suddenly standing in the middle of Dean Winchester's kitchen.

 

“Cas-”

“I apologize deeply if the young lady was upset by my presence,” said Castiel contritely.

Dean was holding back the front blackout curtain with two fingers. He watched the vehicle roar out of the driveway, somewhat wishing that he could recall the girl's name correctly. Was it Sandy, or Sally? He had really tied one on last night, and things were murky. He let the curtain drop back, sighed and turned back to Castiel.

“Look, I'm getting used to your weird angel stuff, but you might wanna knock first. You know, in case I have visitors.”

“I will remember that in the future, Dean.”

Dean bustled over to the counter and poured himself a cup of the coffee she had prepared. Sandy or Sally had been in such a hurry to leave, she hadn't even bothered to get some for herself. “Want coffee?” he asked Castiel, already knowing the answer.

“I do not require coffee,” said Castiel.

Dean filled a second mug anyway. “I'd feel better if someone was drinking with me. Come on.”

Castiel scowled, but took the mug anyway. Dean rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a flask. He poured a splash into his coffee cup. “Hair of the dog?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel’s frown wrinkles deepened. “What do canines have to do with alcoholic beverages?”

Dean shook his head and spiked the angel’s coffee. Maybe if he got the bastard a little tipsy?

Castiel took the mug and sniffed it. “Alcohol has little effect on me, I’m afraid. Nor does caffeine, nor any of the other chemicals present in this mixture.”

“Humor me,” said Dean. “Drink your chemical mixture.”

Castiel gave that queer “what the fuck is the human talking about now” head tilt, and then sipped his own coffee. 

“Cas, why do you put up with me, anyway?” asked Dean.

“What do you mean, Dean?”

Dean gestured around the kitchen. “I’m a drunk, and I sleep with women pretty much indiscriminately.”

“I don’t understand. How is that my concern?” asked Castiel, leaning forward and looking concerned.

“Um, you’re an angel, right? Don’t you guys tend to go all flaming sword-y over sin and that kinda shit?”

“I am not authorized to carry a flaming sword. I am of a lower order,” Castiel explained.

“But I’m sinning, right?” prompted Dean, who hopped up on a stool. He gestured for Castiel to do the same.

Castiel sat facing Dean, cradling his coffee mug in both hands as if it were a sacred relic. “As for alcoholic beverages, our Lord and Savior turned water into wine,” he said thoughtfully. “I do not understand the human need for sexual relations, but the matter of what you do with your genitals is not of my concern.”

“Really?”

“It is love, is it not?” asked Castiel, who actually seemed curious.

It was Dean’s turn to frown. “So, uh, you guys don’t have sex? How do you have, you know, the little baby angels?”

“Little baby angels?” asked Castiel, his face made of puzzlement.

“Sure, you know, like on the Valentines cards!” As Castiel looked even more baffled, Dean leaned over, rooted through the top layer of detritus on the counter, and pulled out the stack of mail underneath well-thumbed copy of Busty Asian Babes. He flipped through a few envelopes, and grabbed one, extracting the card inside and showing it to Castiel.

Castiel scowled. “Is this a human representation of my kind? Why would they wield a bow and arrow? It seems … antiquated.”

“They’re supposed to shoot people in the heart,” said Dean, miming the loosing of an arrow. “That’s how you fall in love!”

Castiel blinked and then stared in astonishment. “These…. These are supposed to be cupids?” he asked.

“Not accurate?” smiled Dean.

“Cupids are at least 200 pounds heavier. And they do not bother to wear underclothes.”

“Euch,” said Dean, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes, _euch_ ,” agreed Castiel, tossing down the card in disgust.

Dean shook his head and smiled as the mix of Scotch whiskey and caffeine cleared the haze in his head. He was getting used to the “everything you know is wrong,” effect, as he was getting used to weird ass shit like having a coffee klatch with an angel.

In the month since Castiel had introduced him to Bobby Singer and his group of hunters Dean had accompanied the crew on several outings as they criss-crossed the Northwest in search of the unnatural. To his relief, none of the jobs had ended in a complete clusterfuck like the exorcism Bobby and Ellen had attempted that first evening. On the contrary, in their element, the hunters were maddeningly skillful. And Dean had learned his head was absolutely and utterly crammed with misinformation. They had gone after vampires in Oregon: the vamps were not romantic at all, but rather sort of gross and smelly. They had extinguished a pack of werewolves in the plains of Montana aided by only silver bullets and some nice, juicy steaks. And in Wyoming, they had also gone against wendigos, a word Dean had previously believed to refer to some kind of recreational vehicle. 

It was actually pretty fascinating, and everybody agreed Dean had a knack for it. He saw the use in what he was doing: it was pretty obvious the hunters were stretched a bit thin. But he was also curious. Castiel had hinted a time or two that Dean was fated for some grand destiny. Well, it was satisfying, taking up his father’s trade, but he wasn’t too certain about the grandness of it all.

There was another nagging doubt: Ellen Harvelle’s pretty daughter, Jo, who was another hunter, made no secret that she was interested in Dean. He had been flattered at first. It had been a while since he’d been with what he considered a real live “nice” girl. But he wasn’t sure if he was out of practice,or just a dumb ass, because all he could think about were excuses to brush her off. 

Not that Dean was some great prize: as he had been trying to explain to Cas, he was a drinker, a womanizer, and if by some miracle he ever happened to find himself with a nice family, he was probably fated to up and ditch them, as his dad had done.

But Dean stirred from his reverie when Cas awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I had thought,” said Castiel, who was now staring into his coffee cup, “that the time has come to introduce you to, uh, an … associate of mine.”

“Cas?” said Dean. That was weird: the body language and the stumbling were all wrong. If anything, Castiel usually came off too frank with Dean. 

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, but the quickly looked away. He looked abashed. “He’s … someone I’m working with.”

“Cas, what is it? I’ve told you, no more angelic gobbledy gook.”

“Gobble-“

“You want me to come meet your guy? Tell me straight.”

Castiel put down his coffee mug. “You know that the hunters do not approve of angels?” asked Castiel.

Dean nodded, rolling his eyes. Oh, boy, did he know! One of his biggest missteps so far had been trying to bring up the topic with Bobby. The old hunter had set off on a rant that it had taken both Ellen and Rufus to finally quell. Bobby had proudly displayed to Dean the warding signs he had painted all over the compound to repel angels. Cas had later explained that Bobby’s penmanship was sort of crap, so the sigils (Dean seemed to remember they were in a language called Enochian) had no effect.

“Bobby would skin you alive and then probably set you on fire if he knew,” said Dean as Cas cringed. “So is this guy another angel?”

“Well, uh. Sort of the opposite, Dean.”

“Cas! You’re not working with a demon?”

Castiel looked sheepish. “I am working with a demon. And he would very much like to meet you.”

“Holy fuck!”

“It is…. It is what you humans call a long story. I can promise you this, Dean Winchester: if you come with me now, no harm shall befall you.”

Dean shook his head. “All right. Well, just let me know when this character-“

“Now.”

“What?” asked Dean.

“He would like to meet now,” said Castiel.

“Impatient bastard. How far away?”

“I will fly you there, so the journey will be nearly instantaneous,” said Castiel.

“You’ll … what?” asked Dean.

Castiel smiled impishly and made little flapping motions with his hands.

“You can do that?” asked Dean.

Castiel nodded. “I’m an angel. Remember?”

Dean hopped down from his stool. “Hell yeah then. Lemme just go get some pants on,” he said, sprinting for the bedroom. 

_Angel rides?_ he thought. Fuck yeah….

 

Dean stumbled, and felt Castiel's hand on his elbow, steadying him.

It had been exhilarating. Flight. Strong arms around him. The steady rhythm of wingbeats.

He noticed Cas was staring at him. “Are you all right, Dean? It can be … disorienting. The first time.”

Dean realized he was wearing a big loopy smile on his face. He tried rearranging his features into something more dignified. “No. I'm fine. That was cool.” Fresh air. The wind in his face. It was more than cool.

Dean took a look around at where they landed, inside of someone's house. Someone's mansion, actually. He suddenly found himself regretting that he had grabbed on whatever clothes he had found heaped on the floor, including the Metallica T shirt Sally or Sandy had discarded. He felt badly underdressed: this place was posh. 

“Just one thing I should warn your about,” whispered Castiel.

“Yeah, what's that?” asked Dean.

“Don't.... If you can help it, don't get him talking about being King,” whispered Castiel. “He tends to … go on about it.”

But before Dean could ask why, a cultured voice rang out. “Castiel! My fine feathered friend. If I knew you were coming I'd have baked a cake! Or at least had out some birdseed.”

“I do not need refreshment,” Castiel told him. “Crowley. As you have requested, this is Dean Winchester.”

“Ah!” said the demon. He looked like a well preserved middle-aged guy, though Dean now knew that only meant he had possessed a middle-aged man. He was wearing a nice looking suit, and sported a rather jaunty eyepatch. “You must be Dean Winchester. Of the Winchesters. Your reputation precedes you!” His one remaining eye twinkled.

“What reputation?” asked Dean. “I'm just a mechanic. When I'm not on a bender.”

“A plain spoken man! How delightful!” said Crowley, coming over to put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean suddenly jerked, feeling himself goosed in the ass by what sure seemed like a big, friendly dog. He whirled around, only to see nothing.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, now, my puppy likes you! Isn't that nice!” Crowley was now making patting motions on what looked like thin air.

“It's his Hell Hound, Dean,” supplied Castiel. “You're mortal, so you won't be able to see it.”

“You have … an invisible dog?” asked Dean. It was annoying, but he had to admit, it was cool.

“Well of course I do, don’t I, precious?” asked Crowley, who was now evidently kissing the invisible dog. “You run off and play now!” Crowley reached over to a platter and pulled up what looked like the haunch from a good sized horse and playfully tossed the thing in the air. There was a snapping sound, and the thing disappeared in mid-air. There was then the sound of running paws. Ginormous running paws.

“Ulp,” said Dean, who looked to Castiel. Castiel nodded.

“So, you’re a demon?” asked Dean.

“Oh, he is a quick little thing, isn’t he?” Crowley asked Castiel, picking up another haunch. “Did you want to reward him with a little treat?”

“Crowley. Enough joking,” said Castiel.

“That’s right, you never did quite grasp the concept of humor, did you, love?” laughed Crowley, setting down the meat.

“I am very humorous!” insisted Castiel. “Um. For an angel.”

“You cause me great amusement,” grinned Crowley.

“Uh, so, why exactly are you guys working together?” interjected Dean. 

“Ooooo! He is sharp!” clapped Crowley, adjusting his eyepatch. 

“We have a mutual enemy,” supplied Castiel.

“We are not entirely enamored with the current management, you could say,” said Crowley.

“What? God?” asked Dean.

“Well, ambitious too?” asked Crowley. “I do approve of your boyfriend, and hope you shall be very happy!” said Crowley.

“The King of Hell,” explained Castiel, after casting the stinkeye at Crowley. “He is the cause of a lot of our current … difficulties.”

“He has as sparse a sense of humor as our dear little Castiel,” ticked off Crowley. “Although better fashion sense,” he acknowledged, flicking Castiel’s perpetually rumpled necktie. “Unfortunately, in addition to being merely tiresome, he is a vicious fuck. And he can’t forgive a slight. The man holds a grudge like an archangel holding in a shit.”

“Who does he have a grudge against?” asked Dean.

“Basically, all of humanity,” said Castiel.

“Oh. That’s not good,” admitted Dean.

“So besides enslaving a good portion of you lot – well, the Americans at least – which I'll admit has been mildly entertaining, he has plans to go a step further,” said Crowley.

“Meaning what?” asked Dean, looking back and forth between the demon and the angel.

“Hrm. Maybe not quite as quick as I thought,” mused Crowley.

“Genocide, Dean,” said Castiel.

“Oh, god,” said Dean. “Shit! Now it makes sense! Sammy!”

“What about Sam, Dean?” asked Castiel.

“His company! Niveus Pharmaceuticals. He’s working on something he thought was a bio warfare agent. But they’re gonna use it against us, aren't they?”

Castiel and Crowley exchanged a glance, Crowley looking almost serious. “Well, so that’s how they’re going to do it? No curses? Very modern, I suppose.”

“We don’t have a lot of time then,” said Castiel.

“Who’s doing this?” asked Dean. “Is this the guy you’re both fighting against?”

“Yeah, King of Hell, the guy is a rotter,” grumbled Crowley. “That’s why we’re gonna replace him, eh, Cassie?”

“Do not call me Cassie,” rumbled Castiel. Dean wasn’t certain, but he could almost imagine the ground shaking.

“Replace him? With who?” asked Dean, at which point Castiel slapped his on forehead in annoyance.

“What did I say?” Dean whispered.

“Here it comes,” muttered Castiel.

“What?” But before Castiel could answer, Crowley had leapt up to the top of the main staircase, where he now held a top had and a cane.

“Where is that music coming from?” asked Dean.

“He loves doing this,” sighed Castiel.

 _“I’m gonna be the King of Hell, I’ve got the style and flair!”_ sang Crowley. He had a great Broadway voice. 

_“You really think it’s decorous dancing on the stairs?”_ asked Castiel.

_“Gonna make Hell a groovy place  
A fresh address to live  
I’m gonna chat with Robin Leach  
And style on MTV cribs.”_

_“You’ll need to stock up more on your bling,”_ laughed Dean, who was amused to find himself singing.

 _“Oh I just can’t wait to be king!”_ sang Crowley, started to do a really lovely soft shoe routine on the stairs. The spotlights went up, and Dean realized that Crowley now had an entire chorus line in back of him.

A not entirely human chorus line.

“Wait,” Dean whispered to Castiel. “Are those … giraffes?”

“I told you not to encourage him,” Castiel sighed.

 _“Everybody look up,  
Now look up more!  
You’ll soon be groveling  
That’s what’s in store!”_ sang Crowley as a bunch of elephants started to imitate the Rockettes.

“Whoa. This is like Fantasia,” Dean whispered to Castiel, who was suddenly rushing him back that he not get crushed by a hippo in a tutu.

_“Oh I just can’t wait….”_

“CROWLEY!” barked Castiel. And this time, Dean definitely did feel the ground shake.

Quite suddenly, all of the magical dancing animals were gone, and it was just Crowley, standing in the middle of the hallway, grinning madly.

Castiel emitted a long sigh. “The book?”

“What was wrong with the book Ellen and Bobby used the other day?” wondered Dean.

“Well, poppet, it was the wrong book, wasn’t it? Otherwise your little birdie wouldn’t have had to unbreak some necks.”

“There’s different kinds of demon exorcisms?” Dean asked.

“Oh, I know, I know, we all look alike to you!” complained Crowley, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, actually, you do. You’re all possessing humans,” Dean shot back.

“Hrm. Well, yeah, that is true,” said Crowley. “You ought witness my true form some time lad, it’s rather delightful!”

“If by delightful you mean repulsive,” said Castiel.

“Why, Castiel!” said Crowley. “You are catching on to humor.”

“I was not joking,” said Castiel, narrowing his eyes at Crowley.

“As it happens, I have the location of the right book, for which you will be grateful to me forever. And a day,” said Crowley, suddenly conjuring a little scrap of paper. 

Castiel held out a hand, and the paper fluttered over to him.

“Are you gonna help us get it?” asked Dean.

“Oh, heavens no! That would make it too easy,” Crowley told them. “Just make sure your library cards are up to date. Oh, and try not to die. I know it comes so easily to your little humans.”

“Let’s go, Dean,” said Castiel, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Toodles!” said Crowley. 

But Dean was already back in his living room. Castiel was frowning at the piece of paper.

“What’s the matter?” asked Dean.

“Bobby is not going to like this,” said Castiel.

“Why not?”

“This address is in Seattle,” said Castiel. “He doesn’t like operations in the city.”

“You can’t just wink in and do it?”

“Much as I wish I could, no doubt this location has been well warded against angels.”

“Demons aren’t big angel fans, huh?” asked Dean.

“No one likes angels,” sighed Castiel. “I do not even like myself much of the time.”

Dean grinned and patted the angel on the back. “It’s not the end of the world. I go back and forth to the city all the time to see Sammy. Hey, that reminds me,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “I gotta phone him, see what’s up.” 

There was a sudden crash of thunder. Castiel wandered over to the window and pushed up the blinds.

Dean took out a cell phone and hit the speed dial. He frowned and then said, “Sammy! What the fuck man? Call me.” He closed his cell phone, listening to the downpour outside.

“Is everything all right, Dean?” asked Castiel.

“Oh, Sam gets like this sometimes when he’s working. I’ll call Jess tonight and see what’s up.” Dean frowned, not entirely happy at the prospect of chatting with Sam’s wife. There was a reason he went to see his brother at work. “You wanna zap over to Bobby’s now?”

Castiel looked over from the window. “Uh. Do you mind driving in your car?” he asked, scowling at the rain.

“Can’t fly in the rain?” smiled Dean.

“I would prefer not to get my wings wet,” said Castiel, wrinkling his nose.

Dean grinned and grabbed his car keys.

 

Sam awoke, the feel of cold metal under his cheek, his head throbbing. He felt groggy and doped up, so it took him a moment or two to realize the pounding sensation was not all in his head. He was hearing the noise of some kind of rotor blade. 

Wait. A rotor blade?

He forced his eyes open. He was lying on the floor of a helicopter – a big one, like a military vehicle. He pushed himself up on one elbow, steadying himself as even this small effort made him dizzy. The sides were both open to the sky. The floor was a mass of people, some lying on the floor, some slumped against the front of back walls. Sam tried to move up to a sitting position but felt a great weight dragging at him. He looked down at his legs. Was he injured? 

“Get down!” One of the cops, the one Dean called Deathtroopers, bashed him with a rifle butt, knocking him back to the floor. Sam saw stars. Don’t pass out, he told himself. Don’t pass out. 

Carefully looking around this time to make sure no one was watching, and not raising his head, he sent his hands down to feel his legs. Yes, he wore chains around his ankles. Where did these guys expect him to run off to? He was in a fucking helicopter. His fingers slipped down the links. He was chained to some kind of weight. Well, that explained why he was having trouble moving. 

He cast his eyes around the interior of the helicopter. In the dim light, he could see the others were chained up too. Madness. What did they think they were doing?

And then the pitch of the rotor blades changed, and he felt the floor moving under him. They were tilting, turning. 

Sam risked raising his head, so he could look straight down, out through the helicopter’s open side. As the vehicle turned, the earth’s horizon came into view.

They were over water.

In the middle of the ocean.

Sam gasped, realizing what was in store.

No. God no….

 

Dean was not smiling during the drive home. If anything the rain had just started coming down harder. Despite Castiel’s seeming aversion to flying in the rain, Dean wished he had insisted on it, as some of the rivers between his house and Bobby’s compound were overflowing their banks, and the road was getting impassable.

And Bobby had not helped matters. That had been the second annoyance. No way, nohow, were they going to go steal a book that was so rude as to be housed in the city. Despite any of Dean’s arguments that he and his brother would have been able to pull off such a petty crime in childhood.

And that was the third thing that was peeving him. “Yeah, Jess,” he was saying into his cell phone as he guided the Impala around yet another painfully swollen river bank. “I understand. But…. Could you just…. Yeah, I’ve left messages but…. When you see him, just tell him I called, OK? Yeah. Yeah, me too. Bye.” Dean closed the phone and angrily flipped it into the back seat.

“What is wrong, Dean Winchester?” asked Castiel.

Dean half smiled. Well, at least now he had a freaky angel to entertain him. “His wife hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Sam in days.”

“Is that … normal for married humans?” asked Castiel.

“Sam and Jess? Who the fuck knows. But it’s weird for Sam. I’m getting worried about him,” Dean confessed.

“I am sorry, Dean.”

“Not your fault,” said Dean. More to distract himself than anything, he asked Castiel, “So, what is up with Crowley’s eyepatch?” He looked like a pirate, but the guy didn’t seem like the fighting sort.

“Oh, he traded away that eye,” said Castiel. “For the sight!”

“The sight?” asked Dean.

“Yes, it’s an ability … prophetic, I think you would say?”

“No kidding. He’s a prophet?”

“In a sense. He has useful insights at times. In my opinion, however, it has made him … eccentric.”

“He is that,” laughed Dean.

“I would rather be thought eccentric than a bore!”

Both Dean and Castiel turned around to regard the demon who was sitting in the back seat, shaking out his umbrella. 

“Uh. Crowley,” said Dean. “What a surprise?”

“You are fortunate I could locate you in this tempest,” scolded Crowley.

“Do you have news, Crowley?” asked Castiel.

“Yes, indeedy. Dean. About your brother….”

For the second time that month, Dean nearly swerved the Impala right into the ditch.


	4. The Rescuers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty certain now this will be six chapters total. But I may change my mind. I’ve been known to do that. And by the way, the farfetched method of mass murder I mention in this chapter? Really happened. Google the title, _los desaparecidos_ , if you’d like to read about it.

Title: The Rescuers ( _Los Desaparecidos_ , Chapter 4 of 6)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: tikistitch  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (eventually); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley  
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.  
Word Count: 4,700 for this chapter  
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then one day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.  
Notes: I think this will be six chapters total. But I may change my mind. I’ve been known to do that. And by the way, the farfetched method of mass murder I mention in this chapter? Really happened. Google the title, _los desaparecidos_ , if you’d like to read about it. 

 

The unconscious ones were the lucky ones. 

Sam watched in increasing horror as the helicopter finally reached its destination, somewhere above the freezing ocean waters off the coast of the Pacific Northwest.

Then three of the cops had picked up one of the groggy people lying on the floor: one cop at the head, two at the feet, being careful to grab the weight the guy had chained to his legs. They scooted crab-like to the open side of the helicopter and then, one, two, three. It was casual as tossing your girlfriend into the pool on a summer day.

That first guy managed a strangled scream. Sam heard the soft splash far down below, and then listened to the cops chuckling as they selected the next one to go. 

Sam noticed after a few throws that they seemed to choose the semi-conscious ones. Sadism? He didn’t care. So as he worked the pick, blindly and desperately, into the padlock that chained the fifty pound weight to his legs he tried to remain as still as possible. 

He realized, somewhere, somehow, that he had little chance of surviving anyway. Even if he got the weight off, and somehow they didn’t notice, and then he by some miracle survived the fall, the biting cold of the sea would no doubt finish him off within minutes.

He just didn’t care. He couldn’t care. 

He felt the lock click. 

“Hey, look who’s been messing with his chains!” yelled a cop. Sam’s heart sank as the guy undid all his work with a click. The cop leaned in close as he grabbed Sam’s pick and tossed it away. “Wanna go for a swim?” 

And then Sam felt himself yanked up. “No,” was all he could think to say. “NO!” He struggled feebly against the cops.

“Let’s make a big splash!” one of the cops called. 

“One. Two. Three!”

And then he was flailing through the air, his stomach lurching, desperate and praying and resigned and struggling.

He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. Like smacking on concrete, is what he had heard. He had a second pick secreted away. If he could stay conscious, pull it out, pick the lock while holding his breath….

And then…. This wasn’t what he expected. He felt the wind knocked out of him, rushing sideways, like being clasped by two mighty arms.

He opened his eyes and looked around, stunned.

His ass was sitting on solid ground. And there was a dude in an overcoat standing over him, repeating, “Please don’t sing. Please don’t sing….”

“You see! I have the sight!” came a shout from behind him. They seemed to be on a rocky beach. Sam turned. In back of them, up on some rocks, a crazy dude with an eyepatch was dancing around.

“What the fuck?” asked Sam. Was this heaven? Hell? His drowning dream?

“SAMMY!” And then he felt himself enveloped in a familiar hug. “Sammy!” said Dean, who was now kneeling beside him. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? I was so fucking worried!”

The dude in the overcoat pointed at the chains around Sam’s legs, and the lock suddenly broke. “They meant to drown him,” he said, all gravelly voiced seriousness in contrast to the freaky dude up on the rocks. 

“Yeah, they’re dumping a bunch of them in the ocean. That’s how they disappear someone. It’s how they have their fun!” shouted the guy up on the rocks. “Bunch of assholes!”

Sam desperately tried to get his bearings. “Dean. What…. Who are these guys?”

“Uh, they’re friends. Kind of. That’s Crowley up there. And-“

“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord,” said the overcoat guy. “I am pleased to meet you, Sam Winchester.”

“Did you just save me?” Sam asked.

“Why, yes. I just saved you, Sam Winchester,” said the angel proudly.

Sam was up on his feet, gripping the angel by the shoulders. “There’s more! A lot more! They’re drowning people! If you’re an angel, use your magical angel … whatever! Please save them! You need to save them too!”

“I-“ said Castiel. He looked out towards ocean with a pained expression. “Are they … in the water?”

“Sammy, I don’t know-“ said Dean.

“Don’t like … getting my wings wet,” muttered Castiel.

“SAVE THEM!” ordered Sam. 

“I will- Yes, Sam Winchester,” said the angel, giving a slight bow and glancing over at Dean. “I will save them for you.”

And then he was suddenly not there any more.

“Sammy, I don’t know if he has the power…” started Dean.

“He’ll probably drown his own fool self, you dumb ape!” laughed Crowley from up above. “Angels are hawks, not ducks!”

“You could help him out, Crowley!” Dean shouted.

“Half drowned humans? I think not. It’s time for my mani pedi!” said Crowley, primly consulting his watch. And then he was there no more.

“Fuck you,” grumbled Dean.

“What a jerk…” muttered Sam.

“He’s a demon,” said Dean.

“Demons are assholes!” said Sam.

And then there was another person on the beach, choking. Castiel, looking half drowned himself, stood by him. “I think he needs assistance,” he told Dean, before disappearing again. And then as Dean was slapping the drowning victim on the back, and there was sopping wet Castiel with two more. 

“Sammy, I need your help!” pleaded Dean. 

Sam tried to pull himself together, to remember the summers he spent as a lifeguard. Cas kept showing up with more people, dripping wet and gagging on seawater. Some were just cold and scared, so he sent them to huddle together. Cas dragged in an unconscious young woman and disappeared. Sam felt desperately for a pulse, and then began pounding on her chest. To his surprise and relief, she began choking. “Saved you,” Sam smiled. “I saved one.”

“Sam!” shouted Dean again, and Sam was over giving mouth to mouth to some guy. But this one didn’t work. 

“Come on, come on,” said Sam.

“I think that’s it. Is that it, Cas?” asked Dean.

The angel, who looked worse than the drowning victims, was huddled in his sodden overcoat. He shivered and nodded. “Don’t like getting my wings wet,” he muttered.

“We lost one,” said Sam. He looked up and saw that the angel was now kneeling beside him, muddy kneed, like he had crawled over the beach. Castiel sighed and put two fingers on the dead guy.

The dead guy choked.

“Holy fuck!” said Sam, who did a double take towards Castiel and the revived guy.

“Yeah, he does that,” laughed Dean, who had a proud hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Dean now hunkered down next to the angel choking angel. “Cas. We need to get these people somewhere they can dry off.”

“OK,” said Castiel, wiping his mouth with a trench coat sleeve.

“I know it’s a lot, but can you get us to Bobby’s? All of us? We’ll be safe there!”

Castiel looked suddenly pained.

“Are you too weak now?” asked Dean.

Castiel shook his head, water running down his face. “I’m OK. I…. It doesn’t matter.” With a look of resignation, he stood up, though he was leaning on Dean to do so. He frowned and stuck his hands out.

Sam gagged. He stumbled, went down on his hands and knees, and threw up. 

“It sometimes does that,” came Dean’s voice. Sam wiped his chin on his sleeve and looked up. Dean was standing over him, but they were no longer at the beach. He looked around. All of the people from the beach were now huddled in what looked like farmland.

“Dean! What the fuck!” came a gruff voice.

“Bobby!” shouted Dean, who ran over to the old guy. “They tried to drown these people! They need help.”

“Drown ‘em?” asked Bobby. He looked around in confusion. “Where the hell did they drown ‘em around here?”

“They took us on a helicopter. Over the ocean,” said Sam, who painfully lurched to his feet. “It’s how they disappear people.”

There were more people gathered around now, some running to get blankets.

“Over the ocean? Yeah, that makes sense,” said Bobby. “But how the fuck did you just land them here?”

“Castiel brought us!” said Sam, pointing to the angel. Castiel, who was hunched over, hands on knees, stole a glance at Bobby. Sam thought he looked panicked.

“Sammy,” warned Dean.

Sam looked at his brother, confused.

“How in blazes did he do that?” asked Bobby, who was now quiet.

“Bobby,” explained Dean. “You didn’t know. Cas is an angel.”

There was dead silence.

“He’s an angel?” Bobby demanded. “You brought an angel here?” he barked, now up in Dean’s face. “Into my home?”

“Bobby! Calm. The fuck. Down!” warned Dean

“I won’t calm the fuck down! Do you have any idea what these fucking things can get up to? Don't you know what we're fighting?”

“Bobby,” panted Castiel. “I could-“

“Shut up, you monster!” Bobby shouted, and suddenly, quicker than Sam would have expected for an old guy, he was on Castiel like a linebacker, butting him down to the ground. The exhausted angel’s knees buckled. Bobby grabbed Cas by the hair and dragged him to a small clearing, where Castiel collapsed in a heap, breathing hard.

“Bobby! Stop it!” shouted Dean, who tried to grab Bobby from behind. But Bobby had a match out and threw it on the ground next to Castiel. Suddenly, the ground in a tight circle around the angel erupted in a high wall of hot flame. Castiel screamed and hugged his knees. 

“Burn you fucking thing!” Bobby yelled at him. The old hunter was in hysterics.

“You’re hurting him! Stop it!” shouted Dean, who tackled Bobby just as he was grabbing his rifle.

“Let me go, you dumb shit!” Bobby hollered. Dean wrested the gun from Bobby’s grasp and threw it away. “He’ll kill us.”

“He just saved those people!” Dean yelled back. 

Although Sam was still sick and disoriented, he ran on unsteady legs, heading towards a nearby building that looked like a barn. He searched around desperately, and then spotted what he was looking for. He ran back out, quick as he could, and upended a bucket of sand on the unearthly flames surrounding Castiel. It ended up dousing enough of the fire so Sam could grab out the angel, who had stopped screaming and gone worryingly quiet.

Dean was over in an instant, grabbing Cas by the shoulders. “Cas! Can you get us home? Get us home! Now!” The angel seemed very out of it, but he touched Sam and Dean, and there was the rushing wind, and a feeling of the most seasick ocean voyage imaginable. And then Sam was in Dean’s living room, reeling, with Castiel pretty much collapsed on top of him.

“OK. We’re safe now. We’re safe now,” Dean repeated to Castiel as he helped him to the couch. 

“Don’t like…. Wings getting wet,” muttered Castiel, who lay down on the couch and then seemed to lose consciousness. 

“Sam, help me a minute, and let me get this wet crap off my angel. Or our angel, I guess.”

“We share an angel now?” asked Sam, who managed a wry smile.

“I think he’s from the department in charge of Winchesters.”

“He hasn’t been doing a great job. I have complaints,” said Sam, who spent a moment helping his brother strip Castiel of his clothes. Despite the hot holy oil fire, they were still sopping wet with seawater. Then Dean retreated and came back out with a big blanket that he tucked around Castiel. 

“You OK, dude?” asked Dean, who hovered over him. 

Cas’ eyes blinked open. “Wings … were burned,” he said softly. He put up a hand and softly touched Dean on the forehead. Dean blinked in surprise, and Castiel seemed to drift off.

“What was that?” asked Sam.

“Uh. He’ll be OK. He says he’s repairing himself. I think,” said Dean, who still looked a bit stunned.

Sam thumped down into one of his brother’s chairs. He frowned, grabbing underneath himself, and fished out the copy of Big Bad Boobies he was sitting on, and chucked it away with a grimace. “OK, Dean,” he said. “What the fuck?”

“I was gonna ask the same of you,” said Dean. “My life has become one big what the fuck. 

“So, I leave you for a couple days, and you’re consorting with an angel?”

“He’s freaky as hell,” said Dean, pushing up Castiel’s legs so he could sit down beside him. “He has absolutely no sense of humor, and a weird understanding of personal space. Also, I think he’s now my best friend.”

“And eyepatch dude?”

“Oh. He’s a demon. He’s _Castiel’s_ buddy.”

“Of course.”

“He sings and dances.”

Sam was now laughing. “Please god tell me you have beer.” Dean hauled himself up and went to the kitchen. Sam heard the fridge opening, and then saw his brother return with two long-necks. He eagerly grabbed one. Dean once again tried to rearrange angel limbs so he could sit down, but ended up with Castiel’s feet in his lap. 

“So how did you get in trouble this time, Sammy?” asked Dean.

“Dean,” said Sam, sitting forward in the chair. “I broke into one of my company’s computers to investigate the project I’m working on. Croatoan.”

“Let me guess. It’s bio warfare. Against us,” said Dean.

“Wait! How did you know?” asked Sam.

“We may not be college boys, but we get the job done,” smiled Dean.

“Well, it’s worse than that! It turns out, my group has been working on a vaccine to keep their guys safe. Though there’s something … weird about their guys.”

“Yeah. They’re demons.”

“Holy fuck,” said Sam, sitting back and putting down his beer. “You’re kidding? No, you’re not kidding. So all the bullshit dad used to talk about? That’s real?”

“As far as I can tell from these last couple days, yeah. Every single last McNugget of weird.”

“Wow. Well, anyway, my vaccine worked.”

“Congratulations,” said Dean. “So, I take it they’re now set to unleash the doomsday virus?”

“Yeah, the apocalypse is coming. To a theater near you.”

“I’ll pop the popcorn.”

Sam grabbed his beer, and then stared at the stack of papers he’d set it down on. He grabbed them and waved them at Dean. “Dean! These were your college applications! Not a coaster!”

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” said Dean guiltily. 

“Dean!”

“OK, look, since you’ll never quit bitching about this, why don’t we make a deal? You help me stop the Blow a Toad virus-“

“Croatoan.”

“-and I’ll fill out your fucking application. In pen! Deal?”

Sam sat back and sipped his beer. “Deal.”

 

Sam was sacked out in the guest room (or what passed for a guest room in Dean’s house) when Dean noticed Castiel finally stirring on the couch. 

“You were out for a while,” said Dean.

“My true form received some damage. I needed to repair myself,” said Castiel, looking under the blanket. “Where are my clothes? I must go.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” said Dean. “In fact, come on, you’re bunking with me tonight.” Dean pulled Castiel’s arm over his shoulders and helped the angel off the couch. He noticed he was still shaky.

“Why?”

“Well, I could put you down with Sam, but he snores like a mother.”

“I do not sleep, Dean,” said Castiel, stubbornly taking his arm off of Dean’s shoulders.

“You also do not walk, right now,” laughed Dean as Castiel began to list to the side. “C’mon. You can ‘repair’ your wings, or whatever the fuck you call it, as long as it’s not noisy. And the bed’s softer than that old couch.”

Dean managed to wrangle the angel into the bedroom, where Cas sat down hard on the bed, clutching the blanket around him. Despite his protestations, he still looked pale. Or at least paler than usual.

“So, that fire stuff Bobby used, what exactly was it?” asked Dean. “Was it a spell or something?”

Cas shivered, and Dean was a little sorry he had brought it up. “Holy oil,” said Castiel. “When it burns, it is poison to us.” 

“It burned you? I mean, your true form part?” asked Dean, who was still not quite sure how that worked.

“It burns. It can kill us. Few weapons that may be wielded by humans can kill an angel,” said Castiel. He frowned. “It is a rare substance. I am surprised that Bobby possesses a stock.”

“Guess you weren’t kidding when you said he didn’t like angels,” said Dean, sitting down next to Castiel. He noticed the angel’s hair was still pasted down from the dip in salt water. He wondered if he needed to stick him in the shower to wash it off. Dean leaned in closer to flick a bit of hair out of Cas’ eyes, and smelled the ocean, the clouds. Despite the horrendous day, it felt peaceful.

He noticed Castiel was staring at him. His eyes were blue as the sky. Dean found himself mildly surprised to be kissing the angel, but the best thing was that the angel was kissing back, opening his mouth and letting himself be pressed down, all wind and sky and freedom. It was the nicest, slowest, sweetest kiss, and it seemed to linger.

But then Dean was face down on the bed, his head smushed into his bedspread. 

“I am sorry.”

Dean pushed himself up and twisted around. Cas was now in back of him, standing a few feet away, blanket clutched tightly around him, eyes wide as plates.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have done that. I should never have done that.”

What Dean wanted to do was jump out of bed and go to him. But somehow he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to do. He slowed down his breathing, and stayed still. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

“I shouldn’t have…” Cas said, as if he was having trouble figuring it out.

“You said,” Dean reasoned, “angels don’t worry about this.”

“Angels don’t worry about humans! I am not human!”

“So. You don’t wanna do this?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow.

Cas didn’t say anything, he just stared, confused.

Dean slowly, carefully twisted himself around to sit on the bed. “I was scared shitless today, you know? First I thought I’d lose Sammy. Then I thought I’d lose you.”

Cas blinked. “That would upset you?”

“Yeah. That would have … really pissed me off.”

Castiel stood maddeningly silent for a long moment, looking as if he were trying to puzzle out a set of partial differential equations in his head.

And then Dean felt himself slammed to the bed, angel lips and angel limbs all over him.

“Cas! Cas!” Dean said when he managed to wriggle out of the clench.

“What?”

“Slow down. ‘Kay?” 

Cas nodded sincerely. 

Dean grinned.

 

Dean awoke to find himself in a pleasant tangle of angel.

He smiled, arms wrapped around a warm body. Evidently Castiel was still repairing himself, as Dean knew the guy didn't sleep but Dean didn't feel him stirring. He tightened his grip. It was like holding sunlight and air. His mind drifted pleasantly. Had he just been dreaming about Cas? Or dreaming _with_ Cas? It was really weird. Pleasant, but weird. Angels didn’t sleep, but they dreamt?

Dean shot up in bed. A gear shift. A car pulling up in the driveway: that's what had awoken him. 

“Dean?” asked Cas. But Dean had already pulled on jeans and was up and out. “DEAN?”

Dean was out the front door like a shot, down to the black Chevy pickup truck, rifle cocked and pointed at the driver.

“Off. My. Property.”

“I come to apologize, ya idjit” said Bobby, his hands on the wheel.

“He did,” said Rufus, who was already out, leaning against the truck’s cab casual as hell, viewing Dean with a half-smile.

“Those folks you left with us: they said it was true. The angel saved all their sorry asses.”

“You tried to kill Cas! Off my fucking property!” yelled Dean, not lowering the rifle.

“I said I'm sorry!” insisted Bobby.

“Stick it, old man,” said Dean. He held up the gun. “This ain’t loaded with salt. It’ll smear your head all over the fucking windshield.”

“You know,” offered Rufus, who seemed to be much enjoying the exchange, “I don't believe I've ever seen this bastard apologize before.”

“I don't apologize!” said Bobby. “But I'm saying I'm fucking sorry. I am one sorry son of a bitch!”

Dean stepped back. He inclined his head at Castiel, who was now, along with a yawing Sammy, standing up on the porch.

“Apologize to Cas!” said Dean.

“I apologize, Cas!” said Bobby.

“It's all right, Bobby,” said Castiel. “I have incurred no permanent harm.”

“Don't forgive him so quickly!” scolded Dean. “And apologize to him too!” he added nodding at Sam.

“Who the fuck is that?” asked Bobby.

“I'm Sam,” said Sam, waving cheerily.

“That's my brother,” said Dean.

“I'm sorry you're brother to this dumbass!” said Bobby.

“That sounded sincere,” laughed Sam.

Dean glowered, but finally stood down, reluctantly lowering his rifle. Bobby hesitated a moment, and then exited the truck, slamming the door.

“Cas, you dumb little shit, why did you lie to me?” asked Bobby.

“Maybe because he thought you'd fucking kill him?” proposed Sam, who now had an arm over Castiel's shoulders.

“I would have killed him!” said Bobby as Castiel looked baffled. “But that's no reason to lie.”

“Boys,” said Rufus, “I think all this apologizing crap has taken it out of Bobby. You might wanna invite him in, give him some coffee?”

“Hopefully with a shot of whiskey,” grumbled Bobby.

“We can do that,” said Dean, who actually might have smiled. As he entered, though, he pulled Castiel aside. “Cas,” he said quietly, “do you think maybe we should come clean with Bobby?” Cas had managed to don his pants and white shirt, but Dean noticed that in his hurry he had mis-buttoned his shirt. He grinned and started unbuttoning it.

“Get clean? Should we heat up bath water, Dean?” asked Castiel. 

Dean laughed. “No, I mean, I think we should tell Bobby who we're working with.”

Castiel watched Dean rearranging his shirt. “Oh. He won't like that.”

“I think the worst is over,” said Dean.

Cas squinted at Dean, which Dean was figuring out meant he didn't agree, but was going to stew about it instead of saying something. 

 

“Crowley? You idjits are working with Crowley?” barked Bobby, slamming down his Hooters coffee mug.

“You know him?” asked Dean.

Bobby and Rufus looked at each other and smiled. “Yeah,” said Rufus. “Everybody knows him. I think. He’s a son of a bitch. But he can get anything.”

“King of the Crossroads,” said Bobby, as Castiel cringed.

“I do not care for the musical routines,” grumbled Castiel.

“You a theater critic as well as an angel?” Bobby asked Castiel. “Yeah, he can be an annoying son of a bitch, but he’s the real deal.”

“I thought it was kind of entertaining,” said Dean as Cas shivered.

“He got me my holy oil,” said Bobby, looking over at Castiel. “Gallons of the stuff. Took off a couple years of my life.”

“What did you have to trade for it?” asked Sam.

“Like I said, he took a couple years of my life in trade,” said Bobby. As Dean and Sam exchanged a terrified glance, Bobby told them, “Eh, years I’d just be sitting around in adult diapers anyway.”

“You really don’t like angels, do you?” asked Dean.

“Boy,” asked Bobby, sitting forward, “do you know who we’re fighting against?” 

“HEY! WHAT BLOOODY BASTARD PUT UP THE WARDING SIGNS?”

Dean grinned and ran to the door. “Crowley?”

“It’s not polite to summon me and then decorate your house with sigils!” protested the demon, who was standing in the middle of the driveway.

“I, um, took the liberty,” explained Castiel. He waved a hand at the front of Dean’s house, and, like a blacklight, it revealed some arcane symbols painted on the walls.

“Well, I knew it couldn’t have been you, Bobby,” sneered Crowley. “You couldn’t ward off a small poltergeist with that handwriting.”

“Fuck you too, Crowley,” said Bobby, as everyone had now assembled outside.

“Too bad you don’t appear to have many years of life in reserve,” said Crowley, “as I have happened into a case of a rather fine Scotch whiskey.”

“What kinda whiskey?” asked Rufus hopefully.

“Craig,” grinned Crowley. “Though your years are nearly as beat up as Bobby’s.”

“Look, you guys, no bullshit,” said Dean. “Crowley, we need your help.”

“Oh, you have some very tasty young years of life to offer? How about a combo deal, with your brother?”

“I’m not trading you shit,” said Dean. “If you were able to get the book, you would have done it by now. You must need our help.”

“The location is no doubt warded against demons as well as angels,” sighed Castiel. “Meaning his minions would be of no use.”

“Yes, yes. So what do you need from me?” asked Crowley.

“Cas is still a little fried,” said Dean, shooting a glare at Bobby.

“Oh, so you’ve made good use of my holy oil,” laughed Crowley. “Was wondering why you smelt of roasted chicken, Cassie.”

“Do not call me Cassie,” rumbled Castiel. The trembling earth sent Dean bumping into Sam.

“All right. All right,” said Crowley, who nevertheless looked a trifle nervous. “Touchy.”

“Just sneak a small group of us nearby. Into the city. Quietly. So we can leap over all the checkpoints. That’s all,” said Dean. “We’ll take it from there.”

“Mmmm,” said Crowley. “I suppose I can clear my appointment book. Especially for some perky little Winchesters. But, say, have your little buddies Cas and Bobby bothered to tell you who we’re up against?”

“The King of Hell? Some big badass demon, right?” asked Dean.

“Not. Quite,” smiled Crowley.

“Dean,” said Castiel. 

“Oh, what now?” asked Dean.

“Lucifer,” said Bobby.

“He is my brother,” Castiel told Dean. “My elder brother.”

‘Your brother?” asked Dean. 

“We’re trying to take down an angel?” asked Sam.

“Um. An archangel, actually,” corrected Castiel. “And he has never cared for humans.”

“Oh. The jealous type, huh?” asked Dean.

“Let me put this in monkey terms,” said Crowley. “Winchesters steal old book. Winchesters make big spell. Spell make big boom. Make Lucy mad. Oh so very, very mad.”

“And our super spell won’t do shit against an angel,” admitted Bobby. “Given that it even works in the first place.”

“Meaning…?” said Dean.

“We’re basically fucked,” said Bobby.

“It has the potential … of a suicide mission, Dean,” confessed Castiel.

“Yes,” said Crowley. “And you are taking an elite team of a couple of has-been drunks, your little brother, and the heavenly equivalent of a file clerk,” he continued as Castiel scowled.

Dean frowned for a moment. “Crowley,” he finally said.

“Yeah?”

“What kinda whiskey was it you said you had?”


	5. Library Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter. See, I say penultimate. Oh, and the Seattle library is a real building. I sincerely apologize for what I do to it here, though it's nothing more than what a bunch of architectural critics have wished upon it since it was built.

Title: Library Card ( _Los Desaparecidos_ , Chapter 5 of 6)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: tikistitch  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (that ship has sailed); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley  
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.  
Word Count: 5,400 this chapter, ~30,000 total  
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.  
Notes: The penultimate chapter. See, I say penultimate. Oh, and the Seattle library is a real building. I sincerely apologize for what I do to it here, though it's nothing more than what a bunch of architectural critics have wished upon it since it was built.

 

“They hid the book in a damn liberry?” asked Bobby upon appearing somewhere in downtown Seattle. They stood underneath a rather glorious and elaborate multistory glass-walled structure. 

_It looks like a Disney cartoon_ , thought Dean, who hoped there wouldn't be dancing mice or any shit like that.

The group included Bobby and Rufus, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Crowley, and Jo Harvelle, the latter of whom the combined pleadings of Bobby and Dean and her mother could not keep from the mission. She was a brave kid, Dean had to admit it.

“Needle, meet haystack,” she now grumbled.

“I understand you lot have never been inside such an institution,” smiled Crowley.

“Why didn’t you just steal the damned book yourself, Crowley?” asked Bobby.

“And run afoul of the librarians?” shuddered Crowley. “They scare me more than the bloody angels.”

“They are of a lower rank,” said Castiel. “But have their own powers.”

The group blinked at Castiel. “Librarians are angels?” asked Dean. 

“This is not well known?” inquired Castiel innocently. 

“Let’s get going,” said Dean impatiently. He tapped the microphone on the bluetooth-looking device he was wearing. He had agreed to use it for the job even though he thought it made him look like a douche. “Testing one two three.” He heard some moans and saw people cringing.

“The volume, love,” sighed Crowley. “Turn it down. You sound like an angel trying to sing showtunes.”

“Angels have lovely voices,” said Castiel.

“If you don't mind your eardrums bleeding,” said Crowley.

“One two three?” said Dean, after fiddling with the settings. “OK. We have our plan? We go in separately so as not to attract attention. Bobby and Rufus are gonna look in nonfiction, Jo and me will go up to Special Collections and look there, and Sam is gonna search the catalog.”

“And once it’s located, I’ll check it out. Because I have a library card,” said Sam, holding it up proudly to the moans and eye rolls of the rest of the group.

“And we need to go quickly, because we don’t know who’s watching,” said Dean. He turned to Crowley and Castiel. “And you guys cruise in the getaway car,” he told them.

“I’m sorry?” said Castiel.

“He’ll be Bonnie, I shall be Clyde,” grinned Crowley.

“Uh, Crowley? You remember the end of that movie?” asked Dean.

Crowley's good eye squinted. “Er. And then again, maybe we’ll just be us,” he said.

“I wish I could accompany you,” Castiel told Dean.

“Yeah, I understand,” said Dean, who stood close to Cas for a moment.

“Angels love libraries,” said Castiel, staring wistfully at the building. 

“Uh, really? Well, that's two new facts I know today,” said Dean. He nodded and the human members of his elite assault squad were off on their dangerous mission: checking a book out of a library. 

Sam confidently sauntered in first, probably glad to be back to his natural habitat, Dean thought. Bobby and Rufus were next. Dean desperately hoped the two old hunters could behave themselves for an hour.

After waiting an appropriate time, he beckoned to Jo, and they walked together into the building. Sam had told him Special Collections was up at the top floor, so they walked quietly up the spiral ramp that wound through the middle of the building, pausing only a moment to nod at Rufus and Bobby, who were peering at the stacks. And sneaking a flask, Dean noticed with chagrin.

Fortunately the Special Collections desk was being manned by what looked like the world's most bored teenager, who popped her gum and barely acknowledged Dean and Jo when they signed in (as Gamble and Huff). 

“Religious books, is what Sam says we're looking for,” Dean whispered to Jo, even though she already knew as he had already told her this at least a dozen time. She had been completely silent on their walk upstairs, though she had been giving Cas some sharp looks today. Dean halfway wondered if she sensed what was going on with him and Castiel. Dean thought about it and realized even he wasn't quite sure what was going on with him and Cas. _I started fucking a supernatural being because he smells really good_ , thought Dean. 

“Dean,” said Jo softly, as if on cue.

 _Here it comes_ , thought Dean. They were deep into the Special Collections section, over near one of the big, broad floor-to-ceiling window lattices, far out of earshot or sight of the disinterested clerk. He shot a glance down to the street below, wondering if he could spot Cas and Crowley hanging out. They would probably pass the time bickering, he thought. Even though he understood the angel still wasn’t 100% recovered from his holy oil burns, Dean had brought Cas along partly to watch out for Crowley. He didn't quite trust the demon to wait for them if things went sideways.

“Yeah?” Dean told Jo distractedly. It did seem a weird time to bring up puppy love. 

“It's all right,” said Jo, coming up close behind him.

“What?” Now she had his attention.

“You and Cas. It's all right with me.”

“Uh. Well. That's good.” He felt, as he had a number of times before, a small hand entwine with this. _This is interesting_ , he thought, the hunt for the book now cast aside.

Suddenly, he felt his arm wrenched behind him.

That was definitely new.

“Uhh. Jo...?”

“Don't fucking move.”

Dean felt the sharp steel at his throat. He flicked his eyes up to the window, trying to catch the reflection. Jo was behind him.

Her eyes were black.

_Keep calm keep calm keep calm._

It took all of Dean's self-control not to wrest away from her. He had the same creepy-crawly feeling he'd gotten when that demon cop had opened its eyes. But she was close. So close. He could swear he smelled rotten eggs. He shuddered.

“You knew all along Ellen got the wrong book last time, didn't you?” Dean asked her. “You nearly killed your mom, you know.”

“Heh. Wasn't my mom,” the demon who was not Jo told him. 

“Jo? You're not in there any more?”

“SHUT UP!”

They both looked over towards where the clerk was sitting. _She's still in there, somewhere,_ thought Dean. _Ellen's daughter. Remember that._

“Now, what you'll do,” the demon told him, “You'll use that little phone thing and call everybody here. And then we'll talk.” She emphasized the last by jabbing with the blade. Dean felt a thin rivulet of blood trickle down his neck.

“And you'll kill them. You'll kill them all.”

“And your little dog too,” she chuckled. “Nah. Maybe we'll just talk. Maybe we can trade. I'd love to stick this into your little angel. Like you've been sticking it to the angel, huh?”

“Lay off the knife. So I can talk,” Dean choked. She hesitated, and then the pressure on his neck lessened slightly.

“Guys,” Dean said into the phone. “Jo and I located the object. Let's all assemble in Special Collections. Then we can go get cherry pie.”

“Get what?” asked the demon.

The noise.

Ten thousand fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. 

Light fixtures fizzled and popped. The stacks shook. The floor vibrated

The Jo-demon cried and loosened her grasp a fraction, and Dean gripped her knife hand turned them both around. 

The piercing noise rose to a shrieking climax, and the entire window, a good fifteen feet, floor to ceiling, started to crack apart, white hairline fracture marks spreading and spreading.

Dean put an elbow in Jo's gut and she fell towards the buckling window. He dove for the floor, for cover, behind the stacks. But Jo – or the demon who was Jo – slipped and fell through the shattering window, body flailing amidst shards and shards and more shards, sharp little diamonds falling everywhere.

“CROWLEY!” Dean shouted, praying that he was heard. The piercing noise had abruptly stopped, but now every car alarm in the city was wailing. “Crowley get us out of here. Now now now!”

He smelled sulfur.

And then he was lying face down in the dirt. Bobby's compound.

Dean sprang up and looked around. Did Crowley get everyone? Bobby and Rufus were there, looking disoriented as hell. 

Crowley was standing there, tapping his foot, wearing a pair of earmuffs and rolling his eyes.

And there was Castiel, holding a bleeding, unconscious Jo cradled safely in his arms.

“Is she OK? Is she alive?” Dean asked, running over.

“You might inquire as to the state of my hearing!” grumbled Crowley, tossing away the earmuffs.

“That was my true voice,” apologized Castiel. 

“Wow,” said Dean.

“But I was only whispering,” added Cas.

“How is Jo?” asked Dean as Bobby and Rufus hurried over.

“She is alive,” said Castiel, who was looking concerned. “I can repair the superficial damage,” he said. “But....”

“He caught her,” said Crowley. “Mid-air. I must reluctantly admit, that was rather impressive. You might have had a career in the major leagues, my boy.”

“I am low ranked in the host,” Castiel told him seriously. 

“Is she still possessed?” asked Dean.

“Possessed?” asked Bobby. “Jo?”

Castiel nodded sadly. “She was evincing signs of demonic possession when I caught her.” He looked up at Dean. “I am sorry I did not realize this before, Dean.”

“She demon-ed out and threatened me in the library,” Dean explained. “That's why I used the code word on Cas.”

“A code word?” asked Bobby.

“Dean arranged with me beforehand that the phrase 'cherry pie' signaled that rescue was indicated,” explained Castiel. 

“You two had a secret signal?” asked Bobby.

“I'm paranoid,” shrugged Dean.

“Good boy,” Bobby told Dean, whacking him on the back. “That's like something your old man would've done.

Dean smiled.

Rufus put a hand on Jo's forehead. “Can you get it out of her, Cas? The demon?”

“Rufus, I am sorry. My methods of extracting demons are … crude. I may end up … damaging her further.”

“You could get it out. But you'd kill her,” said Bobby solemnly. The angel looked heartbroken.

“How we gonna tell Ellen?” said Rufus. 

“It'll kill her,” said Bobby. “What a clusterfuck. We got a man down, and we didn't even get that fucking book. If the fucker even exists.”

“Hey!” said Sam, who was just walking up to the group.

“Oh, shit! Sam! I forgot!” said Dean, who ran to his brother. 

Sam was holding a book.

“Is that it?” asked Dean.

“Yeah!” grinned Sam, handing the book to Dean. “I saw on the computer it had just been checked out and returned, so I found the carts waiting to go back in the stacks. I was just grabbing it when Crowley grabbed me.”

“Oh, I wish I'd grabbed you, dear,” smiled Crowley, which got a scowl from Sam.

“Hey, is Jo OK?” asked Sam.

“She is possessed,” said Castiel.

“Oh. Fuck!” said Sam.

“Holy fuck. Hey, did you look at the card in here?” asked Dean, who was leafing through the crumbling book. He had stopped at the last page and pulled out the card showing who had checked out the book previously. “This has gotta be a joke. Right?”

Bobby leaned over and peered at the card. He grabbed it from Dean. “Jesus,” he said.

“What? Who is it?” asked Crowley. “I am quivering with anticipation.”

Bobby held up the card so they could all see.

The last name written on the lined card was “John Winchester.”

 

Castiel lay back on Dean's bed and contemplated the infinite.

Also, orgasms were nice. Why hadn't anyone told him about that?

During the first few weeks and months Castiel had worn a human vessel – a mere blink in his long lifetime, but a substantial period to the frail humans – he had regarded it as he thought a human might regard a suit of clothes. Something to cover the nakedness, and to prevent evoking eardrum hemorrhages with his true voice.

He had chosen the visage of someone who could easily be disregarded, someone who seemed small and unremarkable. The disguise, such as it was, had worked. But he had also begun to learn something of humankind: something that only became visible close up, though he had delighted in watching his father's fragile children as they had flitted upon the eons.

Humans did not just urge him to eat: they inevitably wanted him to eat the same food they were eating, and to eat sitting at the table next to them, syncing up for purposes he did not quite grasp at first. It was important that Bobby had around the same flask of the crude alcoholic beverage, and that each drank in turn of the small, corn alcohol sacrament.

Dean Winchester was like this, only even more so. Castiel must sit in the car beside him; must sit and sip coffee beside him; must lie down beside him and feign sleep.

Must lie beneath him, touching, and being touched. 

The ineffable.

Why didn't angels do this? Share the unspoken like this? 

Dream together like this?

_What the fucking crud was wrong with them?_

Dean said something. They had finished with the sexual intercourse part, and had moved on to the interlude where Dean would drift off to sleep with his arms and maybe a leg encircling Castiel's vessel. 

“Thanks for, you know, saving my ass today.”

This required a response. Castiel brought himself back and ran the sentence through his translation scheme. American standard English, circa the Twenty-First century.

“It is my role as guardian to protect you. So gratitude is unnecessary,” was the first thing he tried. No, something more was needed. This is a human, remember that. “Um. But the offering of thanks is appreciated?”

He heard Dean chuckle and felt him tighten the grip. “You're a screwball. You know that?”

“I know that reference!” Castiel exclaimed. “A screwball is a baseball pitch. It causes much difficulty for the person in the batting position.” He thought it through. Dean always said things that meant other things that meant other things. It was a great game. “So.... I'm difficult to hit? No.”

He could feel Dean now shaking with laughter. Dean pushed Castiel on his back and climbed on top of him. “I just mean you don't think like … anyone. Anything. Ever. I never know what you're gonna say.”

Castiel thought again. His human seemed pleased. This was good. It wasn’t quite what he had expected when he had taken on the role of guardianship. So many unexpected things had happened since he had come to earth. “Didn't you want to dream now, Dean?”

“Yeah, I'm gonna sleep. Is that … you in my dreams?”

Castiel nodded happily. “Yes, I enjoy visiting your dreams.” Dean had different dreams. There were a few peaceful ones, like the one sitting out on a dock in what appeared to be summertime. There were quite a few that weren't so pleasant, but that could be dealt with. Last night Dean had been a small boy hiding from the monster in his closet. Cas had slain the monster, and then he created a small version of himself so they could spend the rest of the dream playing cowboys. As angels did not grow from children Castiel had not had the equivalent of a human childhood, so he found the experience fascinating. 

“So, you don't sleep, but you can dream?” asked Dean, who was yawning now and obviously about to sink into sleep.

“I can experience your dreams,” said Castiel. “I do not think angels have a similar state,” he added. He thought, _why didn’t my Father give us sweet dreams?_ His Father was perfect, after all. But it seemed a grievous oversight. 

“Well. That was cool that you killed the boogeyman like that,” Dean muttered. He had his arms around Castiel again, and was beginning to drift off.

“I am your guardian. You do not need to give thanks,” Cas answered. But he heard only a soft snore in return.

Good. Cowboys were cool.

 

“You made coffee? I love you darling?” said Dean, mouthing a smooch at his brother and making a beeline to the coffee pot.

Sam rolled his eyes and sipped at his Hell Hazers II coffee mug. “Dean, you know what you're doing?”

“Believe me, little bro, know what I'm doing,” grinned Dean, hopping up on a stool next to Sam.

“Really? 'Cause, what if you get him pregnant or something?”

Dean spat coffee. “What the fuck?” he laughed. “How is that even possible?”

“He told me the other day that angels aren't really male or female,” said Sam.

“What, really? Anyway, he's definitely male. I've studied this. Extensively.”

Sam sniffed. “Look. I've seen you with the girlfriends. And a couple boyfriends. And the I-don't-know-what....”

“Oh, was that the month I decided to wear mascara?”

Sam looked daggers at his brother. “Look. I know how your relationships go, Dean. Isn't he supposed to be our guardian angel?”

“Yeah. So?”

Sam sighed. “Remember Diana Sully?”

“Ooo, what a rack,” said Dean, his eyes lighting up.

“I mean after you broke up?”

“Oh,” said Dean, scratching his head. “Yeah. Flaming hell bitch.”

“Dean! She was just a human!” raved Sam. “This is a supernatural being! What if you do your usual and piss him off?”

“Well. I won't,” said Dean, though a little uncertainly. “Besides, guys don't get as pissed off as girls.”

“Fred Miller?”

“Oh. Well.” Dean blew on his coffee. “He was always a little twitchy.” He scowled over at his brother. “Besides. Is this really about me?”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam, who was suddenly very intrigued by his copy of Hot Slutz Monthly.

“You ever call Jess?”

“I'm disappeared, Dean. I don't exist any more,” said Sam crossly.

“You want to call Jess?”

Sam folded up the magazine and scowled. “I think it's better this way.” Dean didn't reply, but kept a stare, so finally Sam tossed the magazine away and said, “Look, why are you on my ass about this? You never liked Jess anyway.”

“That's not true,” said Dean. “What I never liked,” he said, going to grab the magazine off the floor, “is that she didn't like you.”

“What? That's crazy,” said Sam.

“She wanted to be the wife of some lawyer. And then you switched to biochemistry. Geek.”

“Asshole,” said Sam.

Dean smiled and hopped back up on the barstool and opened the centerfold. 

“I guess...” Sam started. “I guess I thought it would be something like Dad had with Mom.”

“Do you even remember Mom?” asked Dean.

“Well. No. But I remember Dad enough to know it ripped his heart out when she died. I thought.... I guess I thought she would be my soulmate. Jess. That she would grow into my soulmate. But that's not what happened.”

Dean sipped coffee, not having any idea in hell what to say at the memory of Mary Winchester. He didn't remember his mother well either: he only knew that what Sam said was true. John always acted like a part of himself had been stolen in her death.

“Good morning, Sam. Good morning, Dean,” said Castiel. 

“Hey, Cas, lemme show you this,” said Dean, pulling Castiel over to rest his back against Dean's legs. “You see this?” he asked, proffering the centerfold.

“That is human pornorgraphy, isn't it?”

“Yeah, correct. And, you're not pissed at me for looking at it?”

Castiel peered at the pictures of exposed human body parts, and then shot confused glances at Dean and then Sam. “I am supposed to be angry?” he asked.

“You don't think they're attractive, Cas?” asked Sam.

“How could I be attracted to them, Sam? I do not know the women in question,” he said. “Perhaps if we met, and I began to learn about them, then I would begin to find them attractive.”

“Dean,” said Sam, as his brother had suddenly adopted a thoughtful look. “No.”

“What?” asked Dean.

“No, you're not bringing porn actresses here to meet Cas,” said Sam.

“I wasn't thinking that!”

“You were totally thinking that.”

“Should we get out to Bobby's?” asked Castiel.

Dean and Sam now exchanged a much more serious look. “We should,” said Dean.

“Yeah, we should,” agreed Sam. They finished their coffee in relative silence, and then after showers and pulling on clothes and, admittedly, a bit more procrastination, all three emerged and walked down the driveway to the car. 

To Dean's surprise, Castiel hopped in the back seat of the Impala. “Cas! You're supposed to yell, 'Shotgun!'” he told the angel.

“Shotgun.”

Dean looked over to where Sam was standing at the passenger side door, smiling softly. Dean nodded, and Sam climbed in. Dean got in too and started the engine, glad to be doing something, although he wasn't looking forward to the afternoon at Bobby's place, experimenting with their new “neutron bomb” spell.

“Why all the long faces? I should have stayed at the farm.”

“Crowley!” said Dean as the demon suddenly appeared in the back seat. “For fuck's sake. Cas. Could you draw one of those pentackle dealies on my car somewhere? So I don't have this fucker popping in?”

“Oh, you wouldn't want to force me to stay at Bobby's,” sighed Crowley. “Everyone is being such a grump.”

“Ellen's daughter is possessed, and may die,” said Sam, even though he knew it was hopeless.

“Have you heard her, though?” asked Crowley, sitting forward. “Jo Harvelle makes a rather excellent demon! Why, if you don't want to try out this foolishness, she could come work for me!”

“Work for you doing what?” asked Dean. “Feeding your imaginary dog?”

“He has an imaginary pet?” asked Sam.

“He is invisible, not imaginary,” grumbled Crowley. “You should come out some time and visit, Sam. We could have dinner. And maybe some oral sex.”

“Crowley!” barked Dean as Sam slipped down in the seat.

“Can’t you banish him. Or something?” asked Sam miserably.

“Would you like me to banish him, Dean?” asked Castiel.

“Oh, this little cherub couldn't banish me,” scoffed Crowley.

“Don't call me a cherub,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, sure, send him off, Cas,” said Dean.

Castiel smiled at Crowley, who looked uncertain. Then Cas snapped his fingers.

“Whoa, where'd he go?” asked Dean.

“He is on the farm. I sent him into a pile of swine excrement,” said Cas, who was smiling in a most unangelic manner.

“Heh,” said Dean. He looked over at Sam, who was glaring at him. 

“See what I meant about making him angry?” Sam whispered.

Dean checked the rear view mirror, looking at Castiel. He shrugged at Sam. “Uh, Cas?” he asked.

“Yes, Dean?”

“You know how you had the hunters at Bobby’s all snowed that you were some crazy homeless guy?” asked Dean.

Cas caught Dean's eye in the mirror, and then seemed to deliberately stare out the window. “We rarely have snowstorms in this part of the country,” he said.

“Cas!”

The angel shot Dean a look, and he momentarily wondered if he was going to be teleported into pigshit as well. “I wan't completely frank. With Bobby,” Castiel finally admitted. “But you saw for yourself that he harbors … attitudes. Towards my kind.”

“Look, Cas, I understand. And, you weren't entirely clear with Crowley either, then? He doesn't know who you are?”

Castiel was now studying the floor. He bent over and picked up something. Dean peered into the rearview. It was a small orange LEGO block.

“Perhaps I have not been entirely forthcoming with Crowley,” said Castiel.

“OK. So, are you gonna come clean with me?” asked Dean.

Castiel turned the LEGO block over and over. “I was a soldier. I commanded a garrison. Of my brothers and sisters.”

“So you're like a general?” asked Sam disbelievingly.

“I was. Something like that. Then word came down.” The LEGO block turned over and over. “Someone was needed. To watch over you. I volunteered. I donned a human vessel. And I watched. And the more I watched, the more I desired. I wanted to … help you.” Dean noticed Castiel's voice seemed to break on the last phrase.

“There's nothing wrong with that. I could use some help,” said Dean. “We all need help.”

“No! I am not supposed to desire things! Not for me!” Castiel told him, tossing away the LEGO block.

“Why the hell not?” asked Dean.

“I'm not human. I am not like you, Dean. I was made to obey. Without question.”

“Cas,” said Sam. “You said your orders came from up high?”

“Yes.”

“So you talk to, you know...?” asked Sam hiking his thumb upwards. Dean studied the rearview closely.

“I do not talk to Him,” said Castiel. “I have never talked to Him. Not directly.”

“So who does see Him?” asked Dean.

Castiel was silent for a moment. “You wished me to tell you everything,” he finally whispered. Sam and Dean both leaned back a fraction. “The truth is, nobody has seen Him. Not for a very long time.”

“Wait! Nobody.... You mean God has gone missing?” asked Dean.

“My Father has gone missing,” said Cas.

“Whoa. Existential!” said Sam.

 

The mood out at the farm was as crappy as Crowley had described.

Crowley had evidently darted out to clean up, as he was wearing a completely different outfit. He glared at Castiel, but the angel glared back, and then Dean noticed with pleasure that Crowley suddenly seemed to spot something very interesting on the ground.

There weren't a whole lot of people around. “I sent most everybody packing,” Bobby told them. “In case we have another clusterfuck.” He turned to Ellen. “And I tried to get this one away, too,” he said softly.

“I'm not deserting my little girl,” said Ellen, her eyes ringed red. 

“It'll be OK, Ellen. Right Cas? We got the right spell this time,” said Dean, turning to Castiel.

“I cannot promise that,” Castiel told him firmly.

“You could lie,” said Dean.

“I thought you wished me to stop lying and become unsoiled?” said Castiel.

“You shouldn't lie! I mean. Unless you do,” sighed Dean. “Look, it's complicated,” he said, throwing his hands up in confusion.

“We should probably quit our bitchin' and go,” said Bobby, who was holding the book.

“Sam should read the spell,” said Castiel.

“Sam? I dunno about that,” said Dean.

“Hey! Yeah. I could do it,” said Sam, grabbing the book from Bobby. He read off the first few words of the spell.

“How the hell do you know Latin?” asked Dean.

“Biologist. Remember?” asked Sam, pointing to his own head.

“We got ourselves a scholar,” smiled Bobby. “Come on, nitwits.”

Dean hesitated, hanging back after the others had started to move towards the bunker. When had his damned kid brother suddenly decided he was The Exorcist, he wondered. When Dean wasn't even sure he was set on this hunter’s life.

He felt eyes on him, and looked up to see Castiel patiently awaiting him. 

“I'm worried, Cas,” said Dean.

“I promise you, Dean Winchester. I will do everything in my power … to prevent Crowley from singing again.”

Dean looked at the angel in shock.

“That was.... That was supposed to be a joke,” said Castiel, who now looked worried.

“Yeah,” said Dean, squeezing Cas' arm and grinning. “That was actually a great joke.” He slung an arm around the angel's shoulders and the two of them made their way into the bunker.

The ritual went much as Dean remembered before, except that his brother was now in charge of reading the spell, Ellen having been banished outside the bunker, under much protest.

Crowley was there, looking annoyed. He had assured them this “little spell” would have absolutely no effect on him. He had been quiet since Castiel had banished him, only occasionally stealing sour glances at the angel.

“You dumb fucks,” the demon who possessed Jo taunted. “You'll kill yourselves. And the little girl!” She was chained up in the same chair where they'd held the demon cop, right in the center of what Dean now knew was a devil's trap.

“Oh fuck off,” sighed Bobby, who was mixing together this and that. “You ready, Sam?”

Sam nodded, and Bobby sent a match into his bowl of whatever. Dean wrinkled his nose: same terrible smell as before. It may have been even worse.

Sam began to chant in Latin. There was no effect for a worrying long time, but then, as before, the demon threw her head back and began to projectile vomit black smoke. But this time, it did not cease: in fact, it poured out, nearly filling the small room.

Dean choked. Castiel reached out a steading arm.

“Keep reading, boy!” Bobby urged.

Dean peered through the smoke at his brother. Sam, he thought, looked like the one possesed. He had one finger tracing across the text of the book on the table beneath him, and one arm now pointed at the demon. There was a strange glow in his eyes.

The floor began to rattle. The rattle turned to a massive vibration. The entire bunker was swaying back and forth, like a ship caught in a tempest.

Sam kept reading.

The demon wailed.

There was a great silent pressure, like a blast wave. It knocked Dean to the floor. And then a terrible roar.

And then, silence.

He heard a moan.

“Jo?” asked Bobby, who had scrambled to his feet.

The girl blinked. “Bobby?” she asked.

“Wow!” said Dean.

But then there was a huge slam, bigger than before, and he was knocked back down.

Dazed, Dean pushed himself off the floor.

The hardwood floor.

He rolled over and looked around.

He was no longer in the bunker. This was someone's house. It was pretty snazzy, like Crowley's place, but it didn't look like Crowley's.

Crowley was there, on the floor as well, and Cas was lying beside Dean.

And there was Sam, sitting up, still holding the book in his lap.

“Well, so good of you boys to stop by!”

Dean jumped to his feet and blinked at the figure standing in the shadows at the end of the large room.

“Dean,” said Sam, who was now standing beside him. “Is that...?”

Dean held a protective arm across his brother. 

“Dad?” he asked.


	6. Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say six chapters? I SAID SIX CHAPTERS. Oh and Crowley's song this chapter (it's just a snippet) is based on and old Cole Porter tune, "My Heart Belongs to Daddy."

Title: Possession ( _Los Desaparecidos_ , Chapter 6 of 6)  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: tikistitch  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (yup); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley  
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.  
Word Count: 6,500 this chapter, ~30,000 total  
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then on day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.  
Notes: Did I say six chapters? I SAID SIX CHAPTERS. 

 

“Boys,” came Crowley's voice, “that most assuredly isn't your father.”

Dean, his skin crawling, whirled around to look at the demon. “Then … what is it?”

John Winchester – or at least something that resembled John Winchester – had walked out into the light. No, that wasn't Dean's dad. It was definitely not Dean's dad, although Dean wasn't quite sure why. He had been just a kid when John had taken off. But the expression just wasn't quite right. The posture just wasn't quite right.

Something walking … in Dad's body.

Dean shuddered. He glanced to Sam at his side. His brother looked perplexed.

“Sammy! Aren’t you looking well?” the John thing said. And suddenly Dean was standing in front of Sam. “And little Dean. Still as protective as ever?” 

“Crowley,” said Dean. “What the hell is this?”

“Hello, brother,” said Castiel quietly.

“Oh good god, they sent you?” asked John. He made a flicking motion with his fingers. Like flicking a booger, Dean thought, and Cas went flying back, smashing into the wall with a sickening thud.

“Cas!” Dean was running to where Castiel had just fallen. The impact probably would have injured or even killed a human, but Castiel was picking himself up, albeit slowly. 

“Perhaps the man upstairs doesn't think as much of you as _you_ think of you, Lucifer,” purred Crowley.

“Crowley,” said Lucifer turning now to the demon. “And how the hell did a crappy little crossroads demon get involved? Oh, I get it. You got them the book,” he said, pointing at the crumbling spell book Sam was still clutching. At Lucifer’s gesture, the book blew up in flames. Sam gasped and stepped back, watching as red and orange ashes fluttered to the floor.

“Well. Lucky I didn't offer them a money back warranty on it,” said Crowley.

But Dean was squinting at Lucifer. Now that he was out in the light, Dean could see he looked like he had some kind of skin disease. There were some angry red patches visible on the skin of his face and neck. “Did our dad forget to wear suntan oil or something?” he whispered to Castiel as he helped the angel stand.

“His vessel is cracking,” Castiel whispered back. “Not many human vessels may contain an entity as strong as Lucifer.”

“Are you up again already, little Castiel?” Lucifer shouted over. He gestured, wiggling his fingers like a puppeteer. “Maybe I should have you dance for us?”

“Better than making Crowley sing,” Castiel shot back as, still shaky, he held on to Dean’s shoulder.

“I shouldn't mind singing for you, old friend,” Crowley told Lucifer, strolling over to stand between Lucifer and the angel. “Here’s an oldie but goodie. I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he grinned. And then in a fine strong Irish tenor (for whose voice he’d had to trade for a whole lot of very fine, free range unicorn haunch, though it had been worth it), Crowley began to sing.

_“If I invite  
A girl some night  
To dine on my fine candied cherries....”_

Lucifer’s stared at Crowley.

_“I just adore  
Her asking for more  
But my heart belongs to … _

_Mary.”_

The room went silent. 

Lucifer blinked, and for just for an instant, he looked like John Winchester as he whispered, _”Mary.”_ He was silent for a moment.

There was a soft rustling sound. “You know where she is, demon?” Lucifer was suddenly right in front of Crowley now, nose to nose, glowering.

“Oh, my goodness gracious. You mean your wife’s immortal soul didn’t make it down to your domain?” asked Crowley with studied casualness. “Rather terrible record keeping in Hell these days,” he scoffed. “Not like the good old days!”

Lucifer leaned in. “Where is she?”

“Am I smelling a bargain?” asked Crowley, cocking up the eyebrow on his good eye.

“Give her to me and maybe I won’t pluck out that other eye and feed it to you,” snarled Satan.

“Unfortunately for you, my brother,” said Castiel, “currently only Crowley is privy to information regarding Mary Winchester’s whereabouts.”

“Why is that unfortunate?” asked Lucifer, rounding on Castiel.

“There are two reasons: one, Crowley is a masochist, who enjoys pain.”

“Sad but true! Beat me, beat me black and blue!” grinned Crowley, winking at Lucifer, who actually cringed back.

“And secondly, he is also a sadist, who would enjoy it if you tried threatening any of the rest of us,” explained Castiel.

“Oooo, yes! Will your start with the big one?” urged Crowley, pointing to Dean. “I would enjoy hearing him squeal a bit.”

“What?” said Sam. “OWWWW!” he yelled, doubling over as Crowley waved at him.

“Crowley,” said Dean. “Quit it, you son of a bitch.”

“That I am. That I am,” mused Crowley. 

“You touch a hair of any of us, Lucifer, and I guarantee you will never find her,” Castiel told him. “You let us go, now … and maybe we can arrange something.”

“How can I trust you?” Lucifer asked Castiel.

“You can't,” Castiel told him.

“That's the beauty of it,” smiled Crowley. “We're all a bunch of vicious cunts!” 

Lucifer leaned forward, glaring at Crowley. “Twenty-four hours. Starting now. If I do not see Mary, then I can literally say, there will be hell to pay.”

Crowley smiled.

Dean felt Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then he was back at Bobby's compound, along with Cas and Sam and Crowley.

“That is one dumb angelic motherfucker,” grumbled Crowley, wiping off his lapels.

“Crowley. You know where our mom is?” asked Dean.

“No one knows where your mother's soul is, Dean,” said Cas gently.

“Least of all, me,” grinned Crowley.

Dean stared at the two creatures. “You guys were bluffing? With the devil?” he added, his voice breaking.

“Wellllll, no so much bluffing,” said Crowley, “as lying to his nasty little angel face.” Crowley looked over at Castiel. “No offense, Cassie.”

Castiel leapt over to Crowley, where he began choking him. “Do not call me Cassie,” he told the demon.

“Whoa! Whoa! Boys! Break it up!” said Dean, who heedlessly jumped in to pull the angel off the demon.

“It is highly offensive to address an angel by a diminutive!” Castiel told Dean. He was shaking with rage, although he had at least stopped choking Crowley.

“Cas. Sticks and stones,” soothed Dean.

“What does that fucking tits mean?” growled Castiel.

“Um,” said Dean, who was now struggling not to laugh.

“Words,” said Sam. “He means it's just words, Cas. Playground taunts.”

“Holy shit, where have you guys been!” hollered Bobby, who was running out towards the little group. “Your spell worked like gangbusters, but then you guys disappeared on us!”

“Uh, visiting a friend. And by that I mean visiting a loathsome sack of shit,” spat Crowley, who was still rubbing his neck.

“Bobby,” said Castiel softly. “We’ve seen my brother. My, um, older brother.” He put a hand on the old hunter's arm.

Bobby glowered, striking off Castiel's hand. “Lucifer. I ever get my hands on him....” He was shaking.

“Well, thanks to our brilliant non-scheme, you've got 24 hours, and then he gets his hands on us. All of us,” said Crowley. 

“Where's the book?” asked Bobby. “It vanished when you boys did.

“It's turned to charcoal. Not even that,” said Dean.

“Brother dear zapped it,” grumbled Crowley. “And it had such a fine resale value.”

“You mean we lost the damn demon banishing book?” said Bobby. “And Satan's coming for us? Maybe it's just me, but it seems we're kinda screwed.”

“You remember the magic recipe, Bobby?” asked Sam.

“Well, yeah, but you need to chant the Latin crap too,” said Bobby.

Sam began chanting in Latin.

“What?” said Bobby.

“Photographic memory,” grinned Sam, pointing to his head.

“Wait, does that trick work in Latin too?” asked Dean.

“Why wouldn't it work in Latin?” asked Sam.

“You're a scary dude,” said Dean.

“That will work for banishing Lucifer's legions, but not for him,” said Castiel. “Remember, he is an angel, like me.”

“You got a plan, kid?” asked Bobby.

Castiel glanced at the barn, and then back at Bobby. “Yes. I think so.”

 

“You're feeling OK? No after effects?” Dean asked Jo as she crowded into her mother's pickup truck.

“I feel great. I told Mom I could stay with you guys.”

“You're gonna be nowhere near, young lady,” scolded Ellen, who was busily tossing items in the truck bed.

Jo pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Look. Dean. I'm not real clear what I said or did when I was possessed....”

“Like you said, you were possessed,” smiled Dean.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Dean leaned forward and gave her a peck on the forehead. 

“You ready to go?” Ellen asked Jo.

“Yeah, Mom.”

“We'll talk again,” Dean told her. “That's a promise.”

Jo smiled and slid up into the cab.

“You be careful, hear?” Ellen told Dean.

“Ellen, can I ask you one thing,” said Dean, coming around her side of the pickup. Ellen nodded. “What happened between Lucifer and Bobby?” he said softly.

Ellen sighed and leaned back against the truck. “You know his wife, Karen, passed away?”

“I didn't even know he was married,” said Dean.

Ellen shook her head. “He never talks about her. There isn't even a picture around any more. But he puts her death on Lucifer.”

Dean nodded. “I didn’t know.”

Ellen shrugged, and jumped into the driver's seat. “He may talk to you. You are John's boy.” She started the truck, and then they were off, Dean standing in the driveway, deep in thought.

It didn't take Dean long to find Bobby. To Dean's surprise, Bobby and Castiel were standing in the barn, having a quiet conversation. Castiel nodded and departed, and then Bobby stood alone.

“You know, you can never really trust an angel,” Bobby told Dean.

“Bobby, Ellen told me about Karen,” said Dean.

Bobby suddenly looked about ten years older. “She tell you what happened?”

“No,” said Dean. “You wanna tell me?”

“It was right after they took your dad,” said Bobby. “It was clear what was coming. So I took off. A lot of us – me, Rufus, Ellen – the old hunters, we run off and hid.

“But I left Karen. This life was never for her. I thought she'd be safe. I was a dumb shit.

“I got the word, so I come back home. Possessed.” Bobby was silent for a while. “Rufus, he tried to help me get it out. We.... We didn't do so well. We....” He shook his head.

“She didn't survive?”

“Happens more often than not. No matter how good a spell, and how experienced an exorcist you got. Possession just rips the heart out of you. It did of her. She was always … sensitive.”

“Lucifer, huh?” asked Dean.

Bobby shook his head, sadness now flared to anger. “What the hell is their old man thinking? God. Letting those things reign on the earth?”

“Cas tells me no one up there has talked to Him. God. Not for a long time.”

“Bastard run out on us, huh? Well, I tell you something, Dean. He may have deserted us, but He's not gonna get me to run off. I'm gonna stand and fight for what's mine. This time.”

Dean nodded. “Bobby. You think there's anything of our dad … left in there?”

“Well, if Cas and Crowley can use your mom to bait him, yeah, there's traces. But you know, angels ain't demons. They run a little hot to use a human body, so I understand. No telling even if you banished the bastard back to the pearly gates that John would still be in there. And.... There's another thing about angels running your body. Dunno if Cas told you, but the rules are, they can't just hop in and take over, like a demon will.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dean.

“It works like vampires,” said Bobby. “You gotta let 'em in.”

Dean frowned. “Dad … let Satan in.”

“That’s about the size of it. I’m sure it wasn’t entirely willingly. But, yes.”

Dean nodded sadly.

“Anyway. I gotta go finalize plans. With Cas,” said Bobby, excusing himself. “But you remember one thing, boy. You watch over those you love. Don't let 'em out of your sight.”

“I will, Bobby,” said Dean, watching him go. “I will.”

 

The demon squinted at Bobby's hand-written list and sighed. “This human has the worst handwriting I believe in the known universe.”

“How the fuck do you lose someone's soul, Crowley?” asked Sam.

Crowley legged down the ladder in the dusty storeroom, holding a box. “Easy, if you're a bloody idiot. For which I think the current King of Hell qualifies.” He pointed at the box and the top popped off, and then stuck some careful fingers inside. “Hmmm,” he said, placing a round, jelly-like object in front of his eyepatch. “A little eye of newt. Never hurts, and adds the loveliest aroma.” He tossed back the newt eye and refixed the lid, and then handed the box over to Sam.

“They really don't know where our mom went?” asked Sam.

“Believe me, if I knew, I would be out dealing, and not stuck in a dusty storeroom trying to decipher Bobby singer's Beelzebub scratching. When I am installed, things shall be run like a fine timepiece!”

“Isn't that against the point?” asked Sam reasonably.

“What?”

“I thought the point of hell was supposed to be chaotic,” said Sam.

“You're obviously a man who likes order. A man who wants to know where his dear mammy's soul is located. For you, hell _would be_ chaotic,” offered Crowley.

“We all have a personal hell?”

“Ah. You are catching on,” said Crowley.

“So, if by some miracle....”

“Don't think we're in for one of those today, mate, if what Cassie says about his dear old daddy is true.”

“If we manage to overcome Lucifer today, you're just going to march into hell and take over?” asked Sam.

“Well, in a sense....” hedged Crowley. “I have access to many things. Weapons. Charms. Amulets. King of the Crossroads?” he said, pointing to himself and starting a little tap dance. “They might prove handy. In a fight.” He peered at Bobby's list, and then looked up at Sam. “Say, by the way, now I recollect, I have come across an object which may be of interest. To you. And your brother.”

“An object?” said Sam.

“Something of your father's,” grinned Crowley.

 

“Yep. That's a damn good plan, Cas,” said Bobby, offering over a splash of his flask. They were leaning against the counter in Bobby's kitchen.

Castiel frowned and held out his shot glass. “Thank you, Bobby.”

“You realize you'll die,” Bobby told him. “Horribly.”

Cas tossed back the drink. He nodded. 

“You are one brave little motherfucker, I'll give you that,” said Bobby.

“I am the Winchester's guardian. It is my job,” said Castiel determinedly. “There is one other matter,” he told Bobby. “Lucifer wears John Winchester as his vessel.”

“Yeah,” said Bobby, cringing. “That sucks. Bastard. Dean was asking me about getting him out of there. But I told him the truth, I don't think it's possible.”

“I would agree. The vessel – John Winchester's body – is now failing him. Even Dean noticed this.”

Bobby nodded. “Maybe it's for the best,” he sighed.

“There is more. I think Lucifer is seeking out someone else in the Winchester bloodline to take its place.”

“Shit, Cas. You're saying he wants to wear Sam. Or Dean?” said Bobby.

“Yes. I think so. They are of the same bloodline, so may suit his needs. There are few humans would would suit me as a vessel,” said Castiel, holding out his hands, “and even fewer could contain such a powerful archangel.”

“We can't let him do that,” said Bobby, shaking his head.

“He would need consent, of course. He cannot possess them. But as you understand, it's not difficult for a being like him to force such a thing.”

“Yeah.”

“So that is another reason why this must be done as soon as possible,” said Castiel, standing up straight to go. “Thank you for the liquor, Bobby,” he said. He looked thoughtful, and then awkwardly stuck out his hand.

Bobby smiled, and then reached out to shake Castiel's hand. “It's been an honor,” he said.

Castiel nodded.

“And Cas,” said Bobby. “About your big plans for Lucy?”

Castiel smiled. “You know it is a great insult to call him that?”

Bobby smiled back. “Just one question before you go. Does Dean know?”

Castiel looked sad. “No. And you will do me the favor … to not tell him? Nor Sam?”

“No. Of course not,” smiled Bobby. “I won't need to.”

“Oh. Why not?” 

Bobby grinned, rubbing at the bandage that wrapped around his forearm.

“Did you injure yourself, Bobby?” asked Castiel, tilting his head at the bandage. “Oh. Oh no!”

Bobby grinned and yanked open a cupboard door. Then before Castiel could stop him, he slammed a hand on the Enochian warding signed he'd scrawled inside, written in his own blood.

There was a whooshing sound, and a burst of light.

And Castiel was gone.

“Ha! Who's got bad handwriting. Huh?” grinned Bobby. “OK, got the dumb angel, now for the dumb demon. Hey, Crowley! Get yer bitch ass in here.”

 

“You two got everything you need?” asked Bobby, sticking his head into the bunker's interior room.

“Looks like,” said Dean, who was looking puzzled at the packet of cobwebs he'd gotten stuck to his fingers.

“Ain't exactly glamorous, is it?” laughed Bobby, who moved over to help Dean.

“It's awesome!” said Sam.

“Uh, my brother thinks he's back in biology lab. He's kind of a geek,” explained Dean.

“This is really cool, Bobby,” gushed Sam, who was busily arranging powders and potions in an array around him.

“Boy's a natural, huh?” asked Bobby. “Well, your pop would have been proud I think.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, Sam smiling shyly, Dean grinning openly.

“Hey, Bobby, is there a reason why we need to do the spell down in here?” asked Dean. “I mean, we don't have a demon to exorcise,” he said, pointing to the empty chair in the middle of the devil's trap.

“You two idjits will be safer in here,” said Bobby.

“Safer from what exactly?” asked Sam.

“From what I'm about to do,” said Bobby, slamming the door shut.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. And then as one they looked towards the door as they heard the sound of a lock clicking.

“Dean!” shouted Sam.

Dean had already thrown his body against the door. “Shit! He's locked us in! Son of a bitch!”

“Wait. Wait,” said Sam, now digging into the hem of his shirt. He pulled out a pick.

“You still carry one of those?” asked Dean.

“Heh. I always carry two,” said Sam, now attacking the first lock. “Guess I picked up something from dad.”

“Just, hurry, OK?” said Dean.

 

Twenty-four hours, on the dot, from when he had made the deal with the ratty little party of Crowley, Castiel, Dean and Sam, Lucifer set foot on Bobby's compound.

Lucifer was a punctual creature.

He whistled as he walked across the rich farmland, imagining the terrain all up in flames, as he intended to leave it. 

And he had another mission now. John Winchester’s offspring had grown up tall and strong. He fully expected to leave the compound today clad in a glorious new vessel. And he was now planning for the future. Given that Crowley could turn up Mary’s soul – maybe not today, or tomorrow, but Lucifer was a patient creature – he now had the potential to keep breeding nice, strong new vessels. 

Why hadn’t anyone thought of it before? Angels were such stupid creatures. Lucifer spared a sigh for his idiotic brethren.

“Hey. Lucy!”

Lucifer whirled around. “Bobby Singer?” he asked, John Winchester's face forming into a frown, but Bobby had disappeared into a structure. Some kind of horrible little farmhouse.

Oh, this would be fun. Whatever sly trap these stumblebums thought they had laid for him, he would outsmart them, and then maybe get a few centuries of fun torturing them to death. Again and again and again. And again.

He paused just outside the entrance to the barn, wondering where his brother, Castiel, had gotten to. He didn't feel the little angel's presence. Probably had conjured up a fine grain of sense, and flown the coop. That was all right. Lucifer spared a moment to consider the pleasure he would have hunting down the little bastard. His skin would make a fine trophy. Maybe he would have Dean Winchester flay him? That would be perfect. 

Once Lucifer had settled comfortably into Sam's body, that would be perfect. 

So many plans!

Lucifer entered the barn, and was surprised to see Bobby Singer standing alone. That was a slight surprise. He hadn't at all expected to see the soul of Mary Winchester. No, not really. Lucifer wasn't stupid, after all. But he had expected that any plot would include the bunch of them, the better for him, to capture them all at once.

“Well well well! All alone today? Where is everyone else?” asked Lucifer. “Are you going to answer? Or should I torture it out of you? Your choice, really.” And he grinned.

Bobby simply smiled and yanked on a dusty tarp.

The canvas slid down to reveal stacks upon stacks of shiny tanks. There was quite an impressive stockpile, right up to the barn's high ceiling. 

“What's that? Your moonshine?” sighed Lucifer. “A last toast for the sad old drunk?”

One of the tanks at the bottom was leaking pretty badly. There was a pool of oil collecting underneath.

Very familiar oil.

Lucifer paused. And sniffed.

John Winchester's heart beat slightly faster.

“Is that...?” asked Lucifer.

“Fuck you, Lucy,” said Bobby, lighting the match.

The ignition, they later said, could be heard all the way into the next county. Holy oil lights up strong and fast, and burns for an eternity.

The barn was almost instantly a column of flame, stretching heavenwards.

Dean was running, Sam hot on his heels. “Took you long enough to pick those fucking locks,” breathed Dean.

“I'm outta practice!” Sam protested.

“What the fuck?” asked Dean, stopping short, throwing a hand up over his face against the inferno.

“Deep fried Lucifer, boys,” Crowley shouted down from the porch.

“Is that holy oil fire?” asked Dean. 

“An entire lifetime's stock,” said Crowley sadly. “Although I couldn't have thought of a better use for it. Also, I am saddened to report, your friend Bobby is in there as well. Was in there, rather.”

“Shit,” said Sam.

Dean felt the tears coming. “Crowley. Was Cas in there too?”

“Your boyfriend is nowhere near,” said Crowley. “Thanks to, I assume, a little prank from the late Bobby Singer.”

Dean's heart, which he felt breaking, now beat again. “Where is he?” asked Dean.

Crowley sighed. “First I shall need some assistance. One of Bobby Singer's last mortal acts was to confine me under a cleverly concealed devil's trap painted on top of his porch. Can one of you boys kindly fetch up a ladder? And a spot of paint remover?”

 

Dean glanced over at Castiel, huddled in the passenger seat, for the hundredth time. Crowley had warned him to take a blanket along, but hadn't specified why. Cas had somehow landed, bare ass naked, up in a tree, about 20 miles from Bobby's compound.

He had been very disoriented too, so it had taken Dean a little time and some comforting words to urge him down. Dean shook his head. Cas was supposed to be a heavenly general, but Dean couldn't help thinking of a kitten caught up in a tree. 

As they came nearer the compound, and the conflagration that was once the barn became visible, Cas seemed to snap out of it. He stared at the flames, entranced. As soon as Dean brought the car to a halt, he was scrambling out of the passenger seat and running towards the barn.

“Cas! Don't! It's dangerous!” yelled Dean.

But Cas stopped, evidently repelled by the great heat, and sank to his knees, hugging the blanket around himself.

Dean sat down beside him on the grass, even though it was too damned hot.

“We should get back, or we'll get our asses fried,” said Dean gently.

Castiel was weeping. “I should not feel this way, Dean. Lucifer was my brother. I should mourn him. I do not. I miss Bobby, though.” He put a hand up on his heart. “And he was only a human.”

“Lucifer was a dick. You're doing it right. C'mon Cas, you know it's right. You know it.”

“Wow!”

Dean turned at the sound of Rufus' voice. The roaring holy oil had concealed the sound of his pickup pulling up. Dean noticed that there were now several vehicles in the driveway, as some of the hunters Bobby had banished were making their way back. They had left Sam to broadcast the all clear signal to everyone.

“That's Bobby?” asked Rufus.

“And Lucifer. Yeah,” said Dean.

Dean felt the whiskey bottle in his hands. He took a pull, and then read the label. Craig. He passed it over to Castiel, who looked confused for a moment, but then drank as well.

“I brought the good stuff. This is a hunter's funeral, you know,” said Rufus. “We burn our own. And the biggest son of bitch gets the biggest pyre, I guess.” He grabbed the bottle when Castiel handed it up. “REST IN PEACE, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!” Rufus shouted, and then he hurled the whiskey bottle into the barn, where it shattered.

“Oh, sparing the good stuff?” asked Crowley, who was one of a group that was slowly gathering around. “I would have suggested marshmallows, but,” he held out his hand, which now held another fifth of Craig.

“Never thought I'd be spending Bobby's funeral drinking with a demon,” said Rufus as Crowley offered the bottle.

Crowley grinned up at the pyre, warming his hands. “You, sir, are sharing a drink with the soon to be crowned King of Hell.”

“Crowley, please do not sing,” pleaded Castiel.

Dean laughed, and reached for the bottle, but was suddenly on his feet.

Sirens.

“Is that rescue vehicles?” asked Sam, who had just made his way out to the small funeral party. “Way out here?”

Dean looked at Rufus, who was now all seriousness. “Cops,” said Dean. “That’s a cop siren.” Despite the heat of the holy oil, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

“Dean. Did you and Sam finish the demon banishing ritual?” asked Rufus.

“No,” Dean admitted. “Bobby locked us in the bunker, and we spent our time picking the locks. Well, Sam did.”

“I thought we took out Lucifer?” said Sam. “Aren’t we done?”

“Kid,” said Rufus, “now instead of a group of angry demons under the King of Hell, we got ourselves a whole pack of leaderless angry demons.” He waved a hand at the inferno that had been Bobby’s barn. “This holy fire is probably drawing them.”

“You’re King of Hell,” Sam told Crowley. “Can’t you … reason with them?”

“Number one, admittedly, I have not quite been crowned yet,” said Crowley. “And number two … reason with a bunch of fucking demons?”

Rufus had grabbed Castiel and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, angel. We’re gonna need you. And put on some fucking pants while you’re at it.” 

Castiel nodded solemnly at Rufus, and then the blanket fell to the ground, as the angel had disappeared.

“The FUCK?” said Rufus.

“He does that,” smiled Dean.

“I was getting pants,” explained Castiel, who had reappeared in back of them. Indeed he now wore a pair jeans that appeared to be a size too large for him as well as a Metallica T shirt. 

“Borrowed some of yours Dean. No time to shop,” said Cas.

“That’s cool,” smiled Dean.

And Castiel now carried a small, sharp looking sword, which glinted weirdly in the holy oil fire.

“IS THAT AN ANGEL BLADE?” blithered Crowley, who rushed over to him. Castiel flicked the blade, and the point ended up right under Crowley’s chin. “You wouldn’t want to … I don’t know, discuss a trade, would you?” the demon tried as Castiel scowled at him.

“OK, let’s quit fucking around,” barked Rufus. “Winchesters, get back to the goddamn bunker and start chanting in fucking Latin. Everybody else!” he shouted at the small gathering of returned hunters. “The rest of you will help me hold them off ‘til they’re through. We’ve got booby traps, but it won’t be enough.

“Your traps are somewhat poorly concealed,” opined Castiel, casually twirling his angel sword.

“Now you tell me,” grumbled Rufus.

“Boom!” Castiel smiled wryly. “Castiel bits.”

Rufus gawped. “All right, after this shit is over, you and me, angel, we gotta talk. Now, we got armaments in the house, let’s move.”

 

As Sam and Dean had busted some of the bunker locks in their hurry to escape, Rufus had stationed both Crowley and Castiel outside the door, although neither had looked especially pleased about the prospect of fighting side by side. Dean imagined their partnership of convenience would not long outlast this night. Especially if Crowley began a dance routine.

Dean was in charge of mixing the ingredients, but had been quickly replaced by the fussy demon. “No no no! That’s not how you cast a spell! What do they teach you humans in school these days?” Crowley fussed.

“Oh, you know, differential equations, biogenetics,” said Sam.

“Aren’t you supposed to be outside with Cas?” Dean asked Crowley. “You know, defending us?”

“If I am risking my cursed ass over this spell, I want things done properly!” said Crowley. “Ah, there we are, eye of newt!” he said, holding the object up to his eyepatch.

“Yeah, that joke never gets old,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.

Crowley plonked the newt eye into the bowl. “Now, I think all you blighters will need to do is light up – I assume you’re experienced with that, darling Dean?” he asked.

“CROWLEY!” came Castiel’s voice from outside.

“You barked, dear?” But suddenly there was the sound of running feet, and three cops were bursting into the bunker. “Oh, crap,” muttered Crowley. “Oh, my dears,” he told the cops, walking boldly up to them. “Don’t you look lovely in basic black? But you know, one shouldn’t be afraid of color!” he assured them, tapping one under the helmet.

The cops looked confused, but then raised their weapons.

“Shit!” said Dean.

But then Castiel was there. His angel blade flashed, and then a first and a second and then a third fell to the ground.

“See, red is a nice touch,” Crowley told the fallen cops.

“Crowley!” said Castiel. “Out! Now!” And then he disappeared.

“I do love it when you’re dominant,” said Crowley. “Do try not to screw it up, boys,” he told the Winchesters. Suddenly another cop was running in to the bunker. Crowley turned and pointed to him, and the guy exploded with a pop. “I am getting very weary of this,” he said, suddenly disappearing.

“Did he just ditch us?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, can’t trust a demon,” said Dean, taking out his lighter. He struck it and ignited Crowley’s witches brew in the bowl. “Do your stuff, Sammy.”

Sam hesitated, trying to calm his beating heart, and conjuring the pages of the book in his mind. He held out a hand, as if he was casting out someone in the empty chair, and began to repeat the words. The bowl glowed, and there seemed to be a strange electrical charge in the room.

Sam flinched at the gunshot, and stole a glance to the side: Dean had just shot another demon that had got past Castiel. He kept repeating the words, willing himself to concentrate. There was another shot. And then another. Sam kept going. Dean kept firing.

“Think I’m running low, Sammy,” Dean whispered at one point. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the yellowing pages in his memory. He heard Dean curse. Out of ammo, Sam thought. There was a crunch, as Dean was obviously hitting a cop in the head with a rifle butt. And Sam still had a whole page to go. 

A dog was barking. Confused, Sam opened his eyes and glanced up. There was no dog. But a cop was screaming, and he looked like he was getting ripped to pieces by an invisible force. Another demon cop turned and ran, the sound of paws thumping after him.

“That’s my good little puppy, isn’t that?” came Crowley’s voice from outside. “Good boy, Fluffy!”

Sam glanced at Dean, who urged, “Keep going. Keep going.”

The electricity in the bunker now made Sam’s hair stand on end. The fire in the bowl flared up, nearly to the ceiling. 

He reached the end. As before, it was like all the sound had been sucked out of the room.

And then the blast hit. Sam and Dean were both thrown to the floor as the world shook.

And then, from outside, the sound of car alarms.

Sam and Dean looked at each other as they got up and dusted off. They emerged, blinking, from the bunker. Castiel and Crowley were sitting together on the steps, Crowley’s hand patting what looked like the world’s biggest invisible dog.

Arrayed around, a veritable black sea of dead demon cops, and yet more dazed ex-demon cops, lying on their backs, popping off helmets, looking around in confusion.

“I am sorry about your T shirt, Dean,” said Castiel. He pulled it out at the waist. It was covered in blood.

“It’s cool,” said Dean.

“Cold water for blood stains,” advised Crowley.

Sam squatted down and picked up something. It was an old tennis ball. He eyed Crowley, and then tossed the tennis ball into the air. Crowley abruptly stopped patting the air. There was the sound again of thumping paws.

“Oh, he rather likes doing that,” said Crowley approving. “But you might want to take care….”

Suddenly Sam was slammed down to the ground, a drool-coated tennis ball appearing on his chest. 

Dean doubled over laughing.

 

It was some days later.

Dean chewed on the end of his ballpoint pen while and angel looked over his shoulder.

“What should I say I've been doing for the past four years?” he asked Castiel.

“Um,” said Cas, scanning all the empty beer bottles scattered around Dean's kitchen. “Beverage industry consultant?”

Dean laughed and scribbled it down.

“This application will secure your admission to college?” asked Castiel.

“It's only a community college. But it's a start. Criminology. And it will get Sam off my ass.”

“You don't mean literally?”

Dean answered with a smile. “And what about you?” he asked. 

“What about me?” asked Castiel.

“Well, you were supposed to guide us to our destinies, right?” asked Dean, making air quotes around 'destiny.'

“Yes.”

Dean looked at Castiel, Dean's head imitating a very familiar tilt.

“Oh, well,” said Castiel. “I have, um, taken it as my mandate that I should offer further guidance.”

“Guidance,” said Dean, sitting back in his chair.

“Yes. I think you need someone in your ass! Or, um, on your ass?”

Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's tie and pulled him close for a kiss. “Either one,” he said when they finished.

“Literally?” asked Castiel.

“I hope so.” Dean peered at Castiel's chest. “Hey, is that my Metallica T shirt you've got on under there?”

Castiel grinned.

 

Two men stood over the sleeping woman.

There were several photos on the mantle over her bed depicting an attractive blond woman in the company of none other than Sam Winchester.

“You sure you want away with all of it, mate?” asked Crowley. “No backsies on these deals, you know.”

“All of it. Every scrap,” Sam told the demon.

Crowley nodded and waved a hand over the woman. She stirred slightly, and then settled back to sleep.

Meanwhile, the photos changed, as Sam's image faded out of each and every one.

“Goodbye, Jess,” said Sam, leaning over and kissing her forehead.

“I'd be careful if I were you. Might arrest you for a cat burglar.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two men were standing in the driveway outside Dean's darkened house. 

“A cat burglar? I kinda like that,” grinned Sam. “Now, what you promised.”

Crowley held up a leather bound journal. “The notebook of John Winchester. Uh, pre-holy oil bath.”

Sam held out a hand, and Crowley slapped the book into it. Sam flipped through the pages.

“You probably know a lot of that stuff already,” said Crowley as they walked together.

“It's good because it was his,” said Sam. 

“Sentiment never did anyone any good,” said Crowley. “Now, I must fly. Sure you won't pop over for a drink?”

“I am certain,” said Sam, who was still poring over the notebook. And then he was alone.

“Oh, there you are!”

Same smiled up to where his brother was standing in the front doorway, an angel in an overcoat standing beside him, looking curious.

“You ready?” asked Dean, who was walking down, flipping up his car keys.

“What's on the agenda?” asked Sam.

“Unicorns!”

“No way.”

“Way!”

“Why does Sam have difficulty believing in unicorns over other supernatural beings?” inquired Castiel.

“Cas. Get in the car.”

“All right, Dean,” said the angel, slipping into the back seat.

“Also, there's a wrecking yard I wanna check out,” Dean told Sam.

“A … wrecking yard?”

“Yeah. Something Rufus told me about. Seemed like it might make a good base of operations,” said Dean.

“Base of operations,” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Someone's gotten ambitious.”

“Hey. I got a brother and an angel to support now!” said Dean.

Castiel poked his head out of the back. “Um. Are we there yet?”

Sam grinned at Dean, and then they were all in the car, a Hendrix cassette tape jammed in the player, and out on the road.


End file.
